Restoring the Balance
by Floralia
Summary: The brothers struggle to restore their equilibrium after Sam is injured on a hunt, but obviously something supernatural gets in the way.
1. Chapter 1

**Restoring the balance**

**By Floralia**

SUMMARY: The brothers struggle to restore their equilibrium after Sam is injured on a hunt, but obviously something supernatural gets in the way.

DISCLAIMER: I am not officially associated with Supernatural, the network or writers in any way. If I was I would have started series 2 long before now.

This story fits into the season 2 timeline, but at no particular point, because obviously I haven't seen any yet. There are some vague references to events and characters from the first two episodes but nothing really more (if the spoilers I've been hearing are anything to go by this should be painfully obvious from the first line).

I apologise, this was supposed to be posted all in one go, but it kind of got away from me, and ended up being way longer that I'd anticipated, so I've decided to opt for the instalment plan. I promise I will try and update regularly. It was mainly just a musing on how having one of the brothers badly injured would affect their day to day lives outside of the hunt, which is why it might seem a little slow to get started. Also, while it seems to be mainly about Sam, it's actually about Dean in a round about way. Well, hopefully you'll see what I mean it you decide to stick with it.

Sorry – my first fic. Feel the need to explain myself somehow. Anyway. On with the show…

**Restoring the balance**

"I swear if the demon doesn't resurface again soon I'm going to kill you myself."

"Awww… don't listen to the mean Uncle Dean. He's just cranky 'cos he didn't get to kill anything today."

The puppy rolling on Sam's bed blinked at Dean affronted. Dean would have pushed the matter further if he didn't secretly think Sam had a point. He'd been looking forwards to a good bit of killing. Or more accurately, to a good bit of risk free killing. It had been too long. Only instead of the release and exuberance of a successful hunt, he was left with a playful Sam, and the equally playful puppy that had resumed its chewing on one of his brother's old socks.

Dean couldn't for the life of him fathom why he had let his brother take the little creature from the warehouse with them. Why he'd let the little fur-ball anywhere near his car. No good was going to come of it. They'd already bonded.

"Cheer up Mr Grumpy Pants" Sam chirped at him from across the room.

Dean looked up sharply, thoroughly intending to put a stop to the nonsense playing out before him, but his words died in his throat at the sight of his little brother.

Sam was sat cross legged on his motel bed holding the wriggling mongrel in front of him, his hands gripping it beneath its front paws. It fell still for a moment as he raised the pup's face close to his own, and Dean was hit full force by two sets of enormous pleading eyes, one full of sadness, the other, still too dull for Dean's liking, sparkling now with humour.

Damn. So that was how he had found himself here.

Bored with the staring at Dean game the little dogs squirmed around in Sam's grasp, trying instead to lick his new masters face, his neck, his arms, anything it could get a hold of, and Sam fell backwards onto the bed with such a genuine laugh it made Dean ach.

Dean tried to turn his attention back to the laptop sitting on the table in front of him, hoping to find an explanation for why their hunt had been so utterly unsuccessful, and why he'd been denied the opportunity to do violence. But instead, his eyes kept drifting over to the bed where his sleepy brother lay with his eyes half closed stroking the equally sleepy puppy that had now curled quietly beside him. He was soon lost in the repetitive motion of Sam's hand as it traced along the sandy fur of his new friend's head and back, over, and over, and over. No longer focused on the hunt his mind was free to wander. To take a hike down a path he had been trying desperately lately to block up, even though his brain consistently refused to obey the detour signs he had put in place to avoid it, taking instead the fastest, most direct route to pain.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that it was a while before he realised that his brother's eyes had never finished their decent. They were now no longer half mast, but were wide open and watching him with mingled curiosity and concern.

"You alright, man?"

Dean cleared his throat, stalling while he pushed his thoughts away, letting his mask of neutrality fall firmly back into place. Sam's expression didn't waver however, so Dean decided attack was the best form of defence. Or of distraction at least.

"Don't get too attached. You know we can't keep it. We'll have to take it to the shelter or something in the morning."

His brother merely pouted childishly in response.

"That didn't work on Dad and you were a darn sight cuter when you were five, I don't know why you think it's going to work on me now. You know we can't keep a pet. I thought you'd have learnt that lesson with poor old Fat Puss. Although Dad always insisted in keeping you around though…" Dean trailed off, muttering something about 'was never quite sure why myself' under his breath at just the right pitch to ensure it was heard.

Sam snorted in response but didn't rise to the bait. He didn't continue to stare at Dean with those killer eyes either, so Dean tried very hard to chalk that one up to a win.

Dean rose to his feet sharply so that if his brother re-opened his eyes he would no longer be directly in their line of sight. He cursed inwardly, but Sam made no effort to question his sudden movement. Instead he just scratched lazily at his arm and continued to ignore his brother.

"If that thing's given you fleas, no way are you getting back in my car."

"I'd hate to break it to you, but he had fleas they're already in your precious car." Sam replied, scratching himself more dramatically this time for effect.

"Bitch." He wasn't sure if he was referring to his brother or the dog.

"Don't malign poor Little Dean. It's not his fault nobody loves him enough to…"

"Little Dean!"

"Well yeah." His brother replied. "Don't you think he kinda looks like a Dean?" he said, tilting his head to the side to study the sleeping creature. "He kinda smells like a Dean too, but he's dried off a little now, so I'm guessing it'll get better."

"OOhhh…. You little…" he advanced on his brother, who backed away on the bed crying "Attack Dean… go on… bite his kneecaps."

The pup however merely opened one sleepy eye to assess the brothers before rolling over to present its stomach for tickling.

"Kinda seems more like a Sam to me." Dean laughed. "It's about as well trained."

Sam merely raised one finger in response. Dean grabbed his arm before Sam could pull away, but the elder brother's comeback was lost in his throat as his brain processed his ability to wrap his entire hand around his brother's arm.

Dean backed away sharply, as though he'd been burnt.

Sam signed. "You're not going to break me man" he breathed softly.

Dean ignored the comment, trying hard not to picture a fragile Sam that shattered into a thousand pieces under his touch.

"I'm gonna get some food." He said instead, although he doubted he'd be able to stomach anything tonight. "You want anything?"

"No I'm good…. I'm not hungry." He clarified as Dean continued to stare at him pointedly. "Why do you even bother to ask? It's not like you care what the answer's gonna be." Sam signed, giving in much too quickly for Dean's liking. He hadn't had the energy to keep up much of a good fight since… well. For a while now. He never thought he'd miss his brother's ability to bitch about nothing. But then, he'd wasted the day's arguing quota earlier. It was partly the joy of hearing Sam bicker at him that had caused Dean to back down then, and look where that had gotten them. An unfinished job that now made no sense, and a new pet.

"Something plain." Sam sighed, pulling a face at the thought of having to force something down anytime soon. Dean merely nodded mutely and headed for the door. "And get something for little Deanie too." Sam called out as the motel door closed.

Dean breathed in deeply the cool night air, leaning heavily against the door behind him for support. The car looked suddenly so far away, and his hands were shaking so badly for some reason that he didn't think he could drive. Walking was not an option however.

He pushed himself away from the door and stumbled over to the Impala, wrenching open the door in a way that would have made Sam frown it he'd seen it. The engine purred loudly under his touch, and he could clearly picture Sam rolling his eyes on the bed as the sound hit him. The nearest diner was barely a three minute walk away from where they were staying, but that was three minutes more than Dean was willing to leave his brother alone.

The light and noise of the diner took the older Winchester by surprise, making it hard for his tired brain to function. He blinked stupidly at the menu. What looked plain? And what the hell did puppies eat?

Luckily he had the foresight to check his pockets before ordering anything. Damn. That was going to make the decision a whole lot easier. What could he get for $16.57? He could have paid by card, but Hector McGee had spent enough over the last few days. They were supposed to have got the job done and cleared out in the morning. Now they'd have another night at the motel to pay for while they fixed their mistake. This was a problem.

They'd passed a couple of promising looking bars on the way into town, but his stomach was already rebelling at the now seven minutes Sam had been out of his sight. It was going to take a lot longer than that to build up enough cash to let poor old Hector retire. He could always take Sam with him, Dean knew that's what his brother would suggest, but there was no way he would be able to concentrate on playing and keeping Sam within his line of sight all night.

Dean sighed heavily again. They would have to change motels, but the nearest one he'd seen not owned by the same family that was renting them their current digs was a couple of towns over. No way was Sam going to see the logic in that when Dean could easily get them the money they needed to stay exactly where they were, for the short term at least. His brain knew Sam was right, and he really didn't want to have this discussion again, but his heart and his head seemed to be rarely on the same page.

"What'll it be hun?"

"What?" The waitress was staring expectantly at him from across the counter, but Dean's brain hadn't even begun to ponder the food question. "Gimme a minute." He requested, surreptitiously re-counting their remaining supplies and doing some quick maths in his head.

He settled on a burger and fries between them. To be fair, neither of them was hungry, and the meat could go to the dog. He had enough left over for a side salad for Sam, who would no doubt roll his eyes at Dean's attempt to be healthy. Typical. When he didn't order anything but grease he was criticised, but now he was making an effort to get Sam to eat healthy, he was being overbearing.

Dean took the food and made it back to the motel in record time. Sam didn't appear to have moved at all during the brief time he had been away, other than to prop himself up more comfortably on the bed. The little dog had been dozing by his side, and Sam had been resting with it, one finger curled around its paw as though drawing comfort from the contact. As though it grounded him. Dean could relate to that.

The dog roused the instant it smelt the food and whined expectantly.

"Shhh." Sam made a worried face, glancing towards the still open door. Dean grinned despite himself. They'd left salt lines in their wake, bloodstained towels, and even the occasional bullet hole in a wall, but it was just their luck that it would be an illicit pet that got them into trouble.

Then again, it the manager kicked them out they would have no choice but to move to another motel, and Dean was sure he could still put his hands on another couple of cards just itching to commit fraud…

"Shut the door." Sam was now physically restraining the eager dog from its quest for food. Dean got the impression he didn't want it to leave its spot on his bed with him. He'd have a hard time picking it back up again if it did.

Throwing the burger over to quieten the dog Dean did as he was told. They would not get caught. He wasn't moving Sam tonight. He knew their evening's escapades had taken more out of his brother than Sam would ever let on. The fact that he hadn't hit the laptop the second Dean had vacated it, trying to make up for their error, was proof enough of that. Trying to feel useful.

Sam unwrapped the burger slowly, trying not to turn his nose up as the scent of the food hit him. He was tired and he ached and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week. He really didn't think his stomach could handle anything solid right now. In fact it gurgled slightly in protest at the sight of the meat. He would have to eat something however. He knew that Dean wouldn't cease to hover until he did. There would be no way Dean would let him continue with the job tomorrow if he showed how much his one simple mission had exhausted him. If he was being honest with himself, Sam knew he shouldn't have pushed so hard to be allowed to tag along. He just hadn't expected his brother to give in so soon, and it was too late to back down once permission had been granted. Besides. He _needed_ to do this. He needed to do something. Needed to stop the stress and worry and the added burden he could sense his brother slowly sinking under. One he would never, probably _could_ never, share.

Dean nibbled on some fries white he watched Sam feed the burger meat to the dog in small manageable pieces. God the kid looked exhausted. He'd never admit to it though, which terrified Dean as much as everything else about the situation did.

When Sam thought he had stalled long enough on the dog he turned his attention instead to picking at the soggy dry bread that remained, doing a valiant effort to both keep it down and away from the dogs inquisitive nose. Dean watched Sam struggle with it for a moment before reaching back into his bag and tossing over the salad.

"Thanks." Sam whispered quietly. If he thought there was anything odd about his brother's healthy offering Sam kept it to himself. It wasn't worth the effort of mentioning it, and he really was grateful, but his brother's concern only emphasised his own feelings of uselessness.

Sam smiled sadly at Dean as he opened the container, knowing full well his older brother could read his every thought over the matter, and that they probably worried him even more. As Dean tossed the now empty bag to the side, however, Sam's smile fell and his eyes widened in horror.

"God… tell me I didn't just feed your dinner to the dog. You gave it me… I just assumed…"

"It was for the two of you." Dean assured him.

"I thought you were hungry." Sam accused.

"Naaaa" Dean replied, just as his stomach made a liar out of him. In truth he hadn't been, until he'd smelt the food and started eating it.

Sam merely raised a questioning eyebrow, and Dean knew he'd have to broach the subject. As much as he wanted to protect his brother, Dean knew that if he were Sam, he'd want to know the truth.

"Look…" he started, trying to be casual."We're kind of having some money issues. We have a cash problem, and it looks like we're gonna be staying here another couple of nights."

"This place can't cost that much" Sam broke in, "It's hardly the Ritz. McGee should be good for it…" Sam trailed off looking guilty that he'd even suggested it.

"I can't" Dean admitted, cringing inwardly at his mistake. "I forgot when we checked in that I'd already used it. I charged …"

"The clothes." Sam finished with a sigh. "Sorry."

"For what." Dean said sharply. "That I couldn't keep track of what we were spending. We needed that stuff, you know that."

"Yeah… but…" Don't go there. Don't bring up the fact you both wouldn't have needed new supplies if you hadn't gotten blood all over the last lot. That's not going to help the situation at all.

"The night's still young. There are a couple of bars on the outskirts of town…" If possible Dean could have sworn Sam paled at the thought. But to his credit he steeled up his resolve and made to actually move from the bed for the first time since their return to the motel a couple of hours ago.

"Just give me a chance to get…"

"Whoa, wait. Where do you think you're going?" Dean gently pushed his brother back against his prop of pillows, and Sam frowned at him in confusion. But then Dean spotted the pup and inspiration struck. "You don't think I'm gonna leave that little crapping machine here alone do you?"

"I just…" he didn't need to finish. Dean knew damn well what he'd assumed. That there was no way Dean was taking an extended leave of absence from his hovering any time soon. He no longer made any effort to hide his need to have Sam constantly in his sight, and for the most part Sam had been willing to put up with the extra attention to avoid a fight. This afternoon had been different though. They both knew that. Dean was more than willing to have Sam as far away from him as possible if the alternative was to have him anywhere near a hunt. He hadn't really thought that aspect through when he'd finally agreed to come here. The last few bar breaks they'd taken had been brief, but Sam had been present, and they'd stayed just as long as it took for Dean to ingratiate himself with the locals and then screw them out of their money. Not too much money mind you, because if things turned nasty he knew Sam would move to back him up.

"Okay" Sam said, sounding vaguely confused, as though the idea of being alone in the motel room was somehow bewildering. They'd managed it for four fucking years somehow, but right now the idea of walking out the door and leaving Sam with only a puppy for protection was more than Dean could stand.

Well, a puppy and several different breeds of weapon.

He placed several on the small table beside Sam's bed, more for his own peace of mind than his brother's.

"Dean, I'll be fine." Sam reassured. "There doesn't seem to be anything out there, remember."

Dean was already glancing at his watch and he hadn't even left yet. Sam sighed again. "Take your time. We'll be fine here. You deserve a break. Have some fun."

Dean nodded mutely, feeling sick. He didn't want to have fun. But he knew Sam was right. He needed a break. It had been a long time since he'd relaxed, although for good reason. But he really did need to wean himself off his over-overprotective mode back to his usual overprotective levels. Just as Sam was gradually readjusting to the pace of their lives, although not nearly as gradually as Dean would have liked, he would have to do the same. He could not keep his brother wrapped in cotton wool forever. Sam would never allow it. They'd become closer over recent weeks, out of necessity if nothing more, but he knew he was risking pushing his brother away with his fretting, and the fear of that only made him cling harder.

Dean disappeared into the bathroom to prepare for his night out, although Sam was sure he was merely postponing the moment when he had to leave. He would have called him on it too, but by the time Dean emerged, washed and in one of the cursed new shirts, Sam was already fast asleep. He looked peaceful, but was too still for Dean's liking, and he had to resist the urge to wake him. To be able to look his brother in the eye.

God, this was getting ridiculous.

The puppy surveyed Dean suspiciously from its perch, front paws resting protectively on Sam's side and stomach, and Dean wondered if he should push it away. He ran his fingers through the pup's shaggy hair as a substitute for running his hand through Sam's. That would no longer be allow, Dean knew, although at what point that had occurred Dean wasn't sure. Somewhere between the doctor removing the breathing tube and Sam being able to leave his room.

"Wake him and you won't last 'til morning." Dean threatened, hurrying out before he could change his mind.

Before too long Dean found himself ensconced on a bar stool soaking in the atmosphere of the seediest looking bar he could find. He had already picked out his target, but needed to blend into the scenery before he made his move.

Using the emergency money stashed in the trunk of the Impala for just such occasions, Dean bought himself a drink and tried to relax enough to join in the conversations around him. It was a good practice, drummed into him by his father, to always have enough cash on hand to blend into a bar, lose gracefully at a couple of hands of cards or rounds of pool. He had never let things get so dire that the emergency bar funds were their only funds however, and he couldn't help but wonder what his father's reaction to that news would be. Whether John Winchester's presiding emotion would have been disappointment that things were slipping from his son's control, or pride that he had managed to keep them together so far, for so long.

He was on his second drink by the time he was invited for his first game at the table, and trying hard to ignore John Winchester's bitter recriminations in his mind Dean had to decline, because it wasn't until he was half way through his third beer that he could concentrate on anything other than the knowledge that Sam was alone. Out of his sight once more, probably the first time since that second slide into Hell.

_What do you mean? You're the one that told me he was stable. That it was okay to leave. I close my eyes for two fucking hours and now you're telling me this. You don't get to tell me this. I don't want to hear anything from you except how you're going to fix this._

No, that's not true. He hadn't been around for the third either. Although that had been a Sam's own insistence.

He downed the beer but didn't order a fourth. God knows he wanted it, and a lot more besides, but he was drinking on a near empty stomach and needed to keep his wits sharp if he was going to score enough cash to see them through the remainder of the job. He wouldn't lose himself in drink while Sam needed him. He just hoped that by the time Sam didn't he would have gotten over the urge, but he couldn't help but think that would only somehow fuel the desire.

The next time a game was suggested he was ready, and he slipped back into the role with surprising ease. By the time he'd been bought his fourth and fifth beer – he had a cover to maintain after all – he was almost staring to enjoy himself. It was amazing what a little alcohol could do for the nerves. He almost couldn't remember feeling so relaxed.

Just one more game and he'd call it a night….

Dean sat in the back of the taxi counting his money. God, small town America could be dumb. Money crisis averted he was starting to feel pretty good about himself. His mission was accomplished, and a bit of agro from one of his more drunken opponents was the perfect outlet for some of his pent up aggression.

The taxi home was a bit of a wild extravagance, but he could afford it now and truth be told be didn't feel in any condition to drive right now. With a grimace he remembered why it was Sam usually insisted he come along on Dean's money raising escapades, even if he didn't make it as far as inside the bar. He was probably still good to drive, but he'd had to rebuild his baby once already this year. He really didn't have the stomach to do it again.

He fumbled with the key in the motel door, swearing as he staggered across the threshold with a little more exuberance than he would have liked. He didn't want to wake his brother, and he really didn't want to wake the damn dog.

Any relief he might have been feeling at his successful money making jaunt, at his rediscovered ability to enjoy himself out of his brother's company for more than a few seconds - and more importantly his safe return to said brother - vanished the second he set foot inside the room. He didn't need the light spilling in from the parking lot to show him what his big brother senses had let him know the instant he was within range.

Sam's bed was empty. Not just his bed, but the whole room.

He'd turned his back for barely any time at all and his brother was gone.

"Sam!" he called out uselessly, flicking on the switch of the overhead light as he staggered over to his brother's bed. His legs gave way beneath him and he cursed as his knees hit the rough carpeted floor, not caring about the lateness of the hour or whether their neighbours heard him. Kneeling in front of the bed Dean wrapped his fingers around the bed sheets before him. His mind was a numb void, still trying to process the sudden turn of events and shift in his mood, and he rest his head against the mattress, breathing in deep to keep the sudden overwhelming panic at bay. He could not, would not, lose it now.

He breathed in the scent that was so definitely, so distinctly Sam, one that conjured up images of wide innocent eyes, a dimpled smile, a babies gurgling laugh and hands so small they made his chest hurt. The scent was so clear, so real, and the bedding wrapped up in his arms so warm that he knew his brother had been here recently.

Here, warm and alive.

The knowledge kick-started his brain and spurred him into action.

His eyes scanned the room but there was no sign of a struggle. A bottle of painkillers sat on the bedside table, which earned a frown, but nothing else had been touched. He checked in the bathroom despite the fact the light was off, the door propped open, and he _knew_ his brother wasn't hiding behind the shower curtain from him. Wouldn't stay away after the anguished way Dean had called his name on entering.

It was only as he was exiting the bathroom that he realised Sam's shoes were gone.

And there was a note on his pillow, which Dean's knowledge of Sam logic realised was the first place Sam would think Dean would look, sneaking in the door and collapsing straight into his own bed. Like he wouldn't have checked Sam's first. He'd only done it practically every night his entire freakin' life. Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if Sam even knew him at all.

Or, knowing Sam, he'd been trying to make a point by leaving his note there. Something along the lines of 'calm down you overprotective freak, I happen to be almost 24.'

_Dean – I think nature's calling. Gone for a walk. Won't go too far. There's a patch of open land behind the motel. Sam. 2.27._

He looked at the clock beside his bed. It read 2.32.

Dean smiled, feeling relief come off him in waves. He was surprised the room didn't shake with the force of it. He felt like he could more a few cabinets of his own right now.

Sam had kept his word. He hadn't gone far; in fact he was sat on a bench in a small patch of parkland directly behind the motel, barely a 30 second walk from their front door.

Alone. In the dark.

There was a part of Dean that wanted to be furious at him for having scared him so badly, but the relief had won over his anger and he couldn't find it within himself to yell anymore. Besides, it wasn't Sam's fault his paranoia had made a dramatic reappearance. Not directly anyway. Although truth be told he wouldn't have been happy with the idea of Sam wandering off in the middle of the night under normal circumstances – not when they now had an undetermined and un-located 'something' at loose in the area.

"You're very trusting," he called as he approached the bench, glad to hear his voice had come out sounding natural.

Sam merely opened his jacket in response, showing his brother the gun concealed beneath it with a knowing smile.

Dean nodded and sat down beside his brother. "I was talking about the dog." He grinned despite himself. Yes – here, warm and alive.

"He won't run off." Sam replied, shrugging confidently. Dean looked at him questioningly and Sam shrugged again.

"You a whisperer now or something?"

"Nooo. Just…trusting…"

Damn. Okay, so _now_ he was making a point.

"How was your night?" he continued, before Dean could think of a response to that last comment.

"Good. We're solvent again anyway. Should tide us over for a while."

Sam nodded. "Meet anyone…interesting?"

"Dude, it was purely business." He grinned at Sam's train of thought, but his brother seemed to curl further in on himself at Dean's answer. "I played some pool. Drank some beer. Talked to some crazy ass locals. What's not to love?" His upbeat tone not betraying Sam's desperate need to be reassured that he'd enjoyed himself.

Sam just nodded forlornly and Dean could feel the exuberance of only moments before slowly draining away. Sam shivered slightly on the seat next to him. Dean wasn't that cold, but he figured the beer in his system was somewhat responsible for that fact. That's when he noticed Sam had merely thrown his jacket over the top of the t-shirt and sweat pants he'd been wearing to bed.

"Come on, let's get you inside," he offered before he could stop himself, cringing as he saw Sam's jaw tighten.

"Almost three minutes. Is that a new record or the alcohol making you lax?" Sam said with a lot more bitterness than he felt. Well, than he felt towards his brother at any rate.

Dean made no response, just stood up in silence and made his way back to the motel room without saying a word.

Sam sighed deeply and rest his elbows on his knees, bowing his head in his hands. He'd hoped that being on a hunt again would smooth things out between them, but instead it seemed to only exacerbate the tension between the brothers. Rather than allowing them to proceed as equals, it had merely heightened to Sam his own limitations, his dependence on his brother, and Dean's own unselfish attention. He hated that he found himself lashing out at the one constant in his life. He was more grateful to Dean than he would ever know, mainly because Sam seemed intent on blocking or belittling his brother's concerns.

Sam jumped as he felt a heavy weight descend on his shoulders, alarmed that he had been taken so thoroughly by surprise. He looked over to find Dean sitting back down beside him, having draped the thick bedspread he'd been clutching earlier over his brother's slender form.

Sam smiled in apology, making appreciative noises as he snuggled within the new warmth. He knew Dean regretted his need to hover over Sam. Never intentionally made him feel like another unnecessary complication in his brother's life. Actions spoke louder that words for his brother, they always had, so with that in mind Sam allowed himself to slide sideways along the bench until he was pressed up against the warmth of his brother's side, rest his head against Dean's shoulder, and closed his eyes.

Dean seemed taken aback by the sudden gesture of need, but made no effort to move away, which made Sam chuckle despite himself. Dean's tolerance was improving. His hand was now resting on Sam's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, but if it strayed anywhere near his neck to check his pulse Sam was prepared to pull away.

Despite his constant striving for independence Sam had to admit that he needed this. Just a moment to lose himself in Dean's solid presence so he could black out his mind and not have to think or to feel. Only a moment. It wasn't fair on Dean to let it be any longer, even with his brother's new found tolerance for physical contact he suspected a moment would be all Dean was comfortable allowing him. He would move. Any. Second. Now…

There was years worth of teasing and ridicule in this, but Dean honestly didn't know who to make the target. Sam for having fallen asleep with his head on his brother's shoulder, or himself for having allowed it to happen. It had taken him by surprise. He had been expecting his brother to pull away at any second, but if anything his weight had only grown heavier, and before Dean knew it his little brother was snoozing peacefully, cocooned in his duvet with his ear on Dean's shoulder.

Dean held himself painfully still, afraid even his slightest breath would wake Sam, knowing he'd be mortified to realise what he'd done. He smiled at the imagined look of horror on Sam's face. He couldn't even remember the last time Sam had allowed himself to do this, although Dean realised with a twinge of sadness, it was probably he himself who had been the one to disallow it, that had tried to force Sam to grow out of that need before he was ready.

"I'm sorry Sammy." He whispered into his brother's hair, wondering why it was so much easier to show affection when his brother was asleep. In fact, that was almost the only time he dared. When he was either sleeping or too out of it to remember clearly his brother's words or touch. Was he afraid Sam would reject the gesture? Ridicule the sentiment they proved to each other every day, every hunt when they strived to keep themselves between their brother and danger?

The little dog had been sniffing happily through the grass in front of them, but seeming to sense it had lost its audience it came back to sit close to the brothers, wining for attention.

"I can't pet you both, mutt," Dean growled out of the corner of his mouth.

His arm was growing numb, the dog was getting louder, and he was sure Sam couldn't be at all comfortable in that position despite the apparent ease with which he had drifted away, but as Dean tried to shift himself to address these three issue, Sam began to stir.

"Okay that's it. Don't even think about drooling on me man." He whined unsympathetically, internally marvelling at his automatic need to shy away from sentiment in light of the fact Sam could possibly be alert enough to hear him.

Two groggy sleep filled eyes peered up at him in confusion however, and he eased his natural brisk charm down somewhat.

"Time for bed," he cajoled, knowing Sam was too out of it now to argue. In fact, he half carried half guided his brother's lanky frame back around the front of the motel, wincing as Sam winced from the pressure the arm around his waist must have caused. By the time he had got Sam back into bed, his brother was already fast asleep again, but Dean wasn't overly concerned by his sudden switch from argumentative to unconsciousness. If Sam has taken the prescribed painkillers recently it wasn't surprising he was a little dopy, they had an amusing tendency to knock him out. Not that he found the fact that his brother needed such strong medication amusing, but times were tough and Dean would take what he could get.

The little dog had followed them excitedly back into the motel room, seeming eager to keep quiet now Sam was sleeping again, and Dean couldn't help but wonder whether Sam had somehow acquired the ability to control small yappy mongrels. When Dean had first seen the creature it had run a mile at the sight of him, but when he had come back to check on his brother hours later the two looked like they could be ready to audition for some weird Lassie remake.

"So now you're quiet." Dean grumbled at the dog, throwing a spare blanket into a heap on the floor to act as a doggie bed. "You're not going back up there. We had a deal, and you didn't keep you're side of it. I know I said it was the street for you if you woke him, but I think he's going to be confused enough in the morning without having to wonder what became of you, so consider yourself lucky."

God. Please tell me I'm not actually conversing with a dog.

"Stay," he instructed firmly to both of them, before finally doing what he had been dying to do for hours now, and crawling into bed, groaning with pleasure as he sank into the lumpy motel mattress.

_Dean awoke in his usual chair. It hadn't grown any more comfortable than he remembered. He'd been sitting here for so long now he'd have thought it would have moulded to suit his body's every contour. Instead he woke up stiff and somehow more tired than when he had drifted to sleep. Not that he had meant to do that._

_Cursing himself for his inattentiveness Dean pulled himself awake sharply and fixed his attention on the bed in front of him. He couldn't believe he had allowed himself to sleep. He no longer had the time left to waste._

_This time there appeared to have been no major change during his brief snooze. Sam lay exactly as he had left him, although if possible he looked even paler now than Dean remembered. The dark rings under his eyes, even the clear nasal canula providing his brother with the additional oxygen his tired lungs could not, stood out sharply against his pale features._

_Not knowing whether to be relieved that the situation had not deteriorated further, or anxious that it had not improved, Dean reached out a shaking arm and locked his fingers around his brother's wrist. His skin was cool, almost lifeless, but as much as his stomach rebelled he needed the contact. In fact that small gesture was nowhere near enough to quell the emptiness inside him, and he brought his left hand forwards too, playing it fondly through his little brother's unruly hair. For all the times he had teased his brother about this shaggy mop, he didn't know what he would do without its comfort now. He knew he probably derived more peace from the soothing repetitive motion than Sam, but it there was a chance, no matter how slim, that Sam might feel his touch and follow it home, then Dean would repeat the motion forever._

"_Hey Sammy" he whispered, wincing at how raw, how desperately needy his voice sounded, but he had been holding out his one sided conversation for so long now that he doubted his voice would ever clear again. Not that he cared. It Sammy would just do as he asked he would gladly never speak, never ask for anything again._

_But according to Sam's doctors…_

"_I'm still here little brother." He hated the hitch in his voice, as though it betrayed doubt that Sam would return to him, but a part of him knew that if anything was going to get his brother's attention, get through to him how desperately he had to open his eyes now, then that tone from his indestructible older brother was the one to do it. Even if it was just out of curiosity to see what all the fuss was about._

"_Hey, I thought you were supposed to be stubborn." Dean chided. "Why can't you be stubborn when it really matters?"_

_But Sam remained as still as ever._

_Losing their father had been sharp and sudden and Dean had thought nothing would ever match the shock of it. But this… This slow wait. It was almost more than Dean could comprehend._

"_Please, stay with me. Don't make me do this alone."_

_And Dean slowly laid his head on his brother's shoulder, stubbornly refusing to believe what had been so obvious to everybody else for so long now. That as much as Sam may seem to want to make the journey back to him the distance was too far now, and he would never have the strength to get there._

_And then, as if to confirm his thoughts, the screeching monotone of his baby brother's heart monitor broke the silence._

Dean awoke with a start, his heart rate a marked contrast to what his brother's had been moment's before. He gasped in oxygen so hard it was painful, and he had to fight against the bile he could feel rising in his throat.

It was a moment or two before he remembered where he was. He was in a motel, not a hospital, and he had been asleep in a bed, not a comfortless chair. And more importantly Sam was sleeping in the bed next to his, and his heart was beating, beating, beating in his chest. Dean was sure of it.

He exhaled quietly. A dream.

If only that's all it had been. Even then he would have found himself fighting down the urge to fling himself to his brother's side to confirm for himself that Sam was very much alive.

In the first few nights after Sam had left the hospital Dean had been able to do just that, and he could think of no greater comfort after such a nightmare than to be able to sit for hours with his hand against his brother's pulse feeling the steady flow of life within him. It was only the fact that Sam had been so highly medicated in those first nights that had allowed Dean that peace. The last time he had tried he had woken his brother, and while Dean may have been overjoyed to be able to look his Sammy in the eyes, Sam's reaction to the intrusion had been less than peaceful.

Dean hovered now, half way between rising and falling back against his pillows, fighting the urge to just confirm that Sam was okay. That he could at least hear his brother breathing. Sam may have been lying so incredibly still, his arm subconsciously cradling his abdomen, but his bedcovers were tossed around him in such a way that they spoke undeniably of life, and Dean almost sobbed with relief.

Light was streaming in through the chink in the motel curtains, and Dean knew from experience that there was no way in hell he would be getting any more sleep after a dream like that, but he was reluctant to rise lest he wake his brother or the dog. Sam needed his rest. It was better to let the kid rise naturally, as many times as he had had to fight the urge to wake him.

Waking the dog would also lead to waking Sam, and Dean was less sure how they were going to sneak the little creature out of the motel now they no longer had the cover of darkness.

By the time Sam began to stir Dean had composed himself once more. He knew the extent of his own anxiety was unhealthy, but the last months had been a rude wake up call. He had come so close to losing the one thing in his life, the very essence of what made Dean 'Dean', and it continued to scare him a lot more than either of them had imagined it would. But showing his unrest and worry only caused Sam his own, and it was never a good idea to give the kid another reason to brood, so Dean resolved to let them have an argument free day.

Sam had slept in later than he'd planned, and even after he'd showered he found himself fighting the groggy after effects of the painkillers he'd taken the night before. Man, he'd forgotten how disorientating they could be. In fact, he remembered nothing between arguing with Dean on the bench and waking up in warm bed to find half the morning had passed him by.

Whatever they had been arguing about seemed to have blown over however, if the sunny disposition his brother was exhibiting this morning was anything to go by.

Sam emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam to find Dean had just returned with breakfast, and that the dog had weed on its blankets. He blinked stupidly, not sure which should be addressed first, when Dean shoved a cup of steaming coffee into his hands.

"Hey, it's your pet. You were the one who was so keen to bring it back here."

"I thought you were going above and beyond not to leave it unsupervised. If I didn't know any better I'd think you'd somehow planned this, just to prove your point."

Dean knew there had been no hidden meaning behind Sam's words, so chose to ignore that he had found one on his own.

Sam perched on the edge of his bed and took a large mouthful of his drink, sighing happily. He could practically feel the warmth and the caffeine banishing away the lingering after effects of sleep and drugs.

"How you feeling?" Dean ventured, eyeing the bottle of painkillers still resting by Sam's bed. His brother looked in a good mood, it seemed safe to ask, and he really did need to know. "Feel up to a library session? I did a brief scan on the internet last night but I'm drawing up a blank. I think we may need a professional geek on the case."

"I'm good. Better." Sam too eyed the bottle, almost guiltily. Maybe he shouldn't have left the bottle on show for Dean's peace of mind, but he knew his brother would be more concerned if Sam had taken the tablets and then tried to conceal the fact. "I think it was the cold, making it twinge. I got a good night's sleep though, so that's a plus… I fell asleep on you didn't I? I don't remember getting back into bed."

"Oh only in the literal sense," Dean muttered with a smile.

"What?"

"Don't worry about it," he said, handing over Sam's breakfast, trying to hide a smile at the enthusiasm with which Sam attacked his bagel. Dean was busy throwing scraps of bacon from his own breakfast to the dog.

"You gonna find him a home while I'm at the library?" Sam asked.

"No, I'll come with. Two heads and all that… You point and I'll look."

"We really should find somewhere to house the little guy. I'd feel bad ditching him back on the streets," Sam said sadly, bending down to tickle the little dog's ears.

"You're taking the impending separation incredibly well. I thought I'd have to fight you on this."

"We can't keep a dog Dean, you know that." Sam looked at his brother as though he was insane.

"But last night…"

"I was just trying to piss you off," Sam stated, as if it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world, which Dean supposed a few months ago it probably was.

"You little… you had me genuinely worried how I was going to drag the two of you apart. I was working on strategies and everything."

"Then I'm sorry I said anything. Did they involve chocolate sundaes and stolen library books?" Sam asked, remembering his father's favourite two standby Sam cajoling techniques, once upon a time when getting his youngest to fall in line had been that easy.

"Man, you were such a girl."

"_Were._ Wow. That's almost a complement."

Dean rose, grumbling in response. He was finding it hard to see the smile on Sam's face through the veiled wince as he lent back down to play with the dog, but to say anything about it would be to set Sam in a defensive mood for the rest of the day. Instead he pulled out the scrap of fabric he had discovered the night before, the only vague clue they had to show for their night out.

"Here," he said, tossing it over to Sam. "Take this with you. We may be able to find something that matches the symbols in the library. Not that this looks like the kinda place that'll be over brimming with our kinda books, but you never know. Could even be a scrap from some kids t-shirt for all we know, but it's not as if we have anything else to go on."

Sam eyed the markings on the cloth curiously. He hadn't had a proper look the night before. He'd been too tired to care on the journey back to the motel, and had had an excited dog to prevent from being too excited in his brother's car.

"Ringing any bells?"

"Yeah… but not really." Sam said with a frown. "It looks pretty generic. Your standard occult symbols. But I've never seen them all together like this. And I don't know if the order means anything. It's like…"

"It's like someone drew out every vaguely cultish symbol they could think of in thirty seconds."

"…yeah. Kinda fits the t-shirt theory."

"One nice easy job to stop you from getting bored." Dean mimicked Sam's voice from earlier in the week. "If that was your aim I think one that involves a day in the library with no real clue what we're researching was perhaps not the best job to choose."

"Well after your maximum driving time of two hours, 'no poltergeists, no obvious haunting and nothing with claws' mandate there was a limit on what was on offer. There was a possible blood letting cult in Wisconsin but I was pretty sure that was going to be a 'no'." Sam watched his brother pack for the day with an amused smile.

Dean swallowed thickly, trying to push away the image of Sam and bloodletting. "I'm gonna hit reception, let them know we're gonna be sticking around for a few days. Meet me in the car when you're done. And bring the mutt. We'll find something to do with him before we hit the library."

Sam nodded and busied himself getting together his favourite research supplied. The fact he even had favourite research supplied made Dean feel vindicated enough to keep on with the 'Geek Boy' comments for at least the next twenty years.

Dean had no trouble at all keeping their room, and decided to keep the motel owner occupied while Sam could smuggle his puppy into the car by questioning him on the nearest and best research venues in the area, making up some story Sam would have loved him for about his brother being a college student researching myths and urban legends of rural America. They really did need a library with at least some mythology texts if they were going to match any of the symbols on that cloth.

He'd ran out of questions however, and the motel owner had exhausted his expressions of surprise over Sam's morbid curiosities _'he looks like such an ordinary young man' _and the subject of their conversation was yet to emerge from room 35.

"Well, I'd better get a move on. These light bulbs aren't going to change themselves." And before Dean could think of another line of questioning the older man was out of the office door and striding over the car park to his destination, which just happened to be in the direction of their still open door.

Fighting down a panic. Dean followed. It was then that several things seemed to happen at once.

Firstly, a terrified shrill barking sound started to emanate from the direction of the Winchester's room, causing the motel owner to glare at him accusingly and hurry forwards to investigate the noise.

When Dean reached his and Sam's room it was hard to make out what was happening inside through the cloud of thick black smoke that seemed to have enveloped everything. But then he noticed the little dog barking with a mixture of fury and abject terror, swiping its paws at the apparently still and innocent looking mystery cloth that now lay on the floor in the centre of the room.

Dean's eyes darted through the room in panic, and didn't relax when they met the object of his search. Sam was pressed against the far wall, his face a mask of shock and confusion. He took a lurching step forwards when he noticed his brother's return.

"I don't think it's a t-shirt," was all he managed before collapsing in a dead faint onto the hard carpeted floor that had bruised Dean's knees so badly the night before. The second he hit the ground the smoke in the room cleared, and the little dog became passive once more.

It was a moment before Dean could move. His brain seemed to take a long time to process what was happening, and coming to the conclusion he didn't really have a clue it decided to start at the beginning and try again.

Unfortunately, it took the motel owner a lot less time to figure out that Sam, the apple of his matronly wife's eye (she had already baked the boy two batches of cookies in an effort to fatten him up, and had even offered to darn his socks) had obviously been conducting some kind of dark pagan ritual in his room, which included burning incense and filling the building with mind altering fumes. It was no surprise the kid looked so frail and bemused every time he saw him. And just what exactly he had been going to do with the puppy was anyone's guess, but there was no way it could be good.

And he had let it pee on his fresh blankets.

A low groaning broke through Dean's catatonia. If his eyes were slow to work out what was happening, his ears knew exactly what that sound was, and he'd need a lobotomy and a full personality transplant before it would be denied.

"Sam," he choked out, giving the fabric on the floor a wide berth as he darted to the other side of the room where his brother was beginning to stir.

"What the hell happened?" Sam's voice was shaky, and while he was struggling to sit up he had yet to open his eyes. The question came more as a response to Dean's touch, from the little brother confidence that upon waking up and finding himself on the floor Dean would be somewhere in the immediate vicinity.

"You're asking me!" Dean said incredulously, but with no trace of accusation in his voice. "Besides you scaring the crap out of me.." he took a firmer grip on Sam's elbow and, bracing his brother's other side gently pulled him up into a sitting position and propped him back against the wall he had been clinging to before Dean had arrived.

Sam couldn't help the slight scream of pain the sudden movement caused. He tried to chalk it up to his body being taken by surprise, but that wasn't it. He'd known it was coming. Why did his brother think he had been moving so slowly?

Any relief Dean might have felt upon Sam opening his eyes vanished instantly at that sound. The sight of his little brother pressing himself subconsciously hard against the wall as though shying as far away from his touch as possible, biting his lip and trying hard not to whimper in pain, was starting to cause Dean to slide back into catatonia. That. And the fact his eyes were closed again.

It was noise of a slightly different pitch that caused Sam to open them again.

"What the _hell_ has been going on in here?"

Sam honestly didn't know what the motel owner seemed more upset about, the apparent satanic ritual and ungodly black smoke, or the presence of a dog in his clean tidy room. _'And Angela's deathly allergic you know'. _Dean looked about as dazed at the tirade as he felt, and was making no effort to explain themselves. In fact, he was staring around himself blankly as though still trying to process exactly what was going on.

Realising he would be getting no help from that quarter Sam grit his teeth and tried valiantly to stand. Dean was still crouched on the floor in front of him, and was looking too bemused to notice, so Sam used his brother as a prop, resting almost his entire weight against Dean's shoulders as he wrenched himself to his feet. To his chagrin this did not spur Dean into action. If anything it just caused him to frown slightly as to where the sudden pressure could be coming from.

It was Sam moving away from him towards the madly gesturing motel owner, who actually backed away as though Sam were rushing him brandishing a machete, and Dean registering the loss of contact that brought the room back into focus. Strangely the first thing he noticed was the dog, barking insanely. It had placed itself between Sam and the newcomer, barking and growling at the man's feet as though worried they were going to do his new master bodily harm. Dean felt a sudden surge of affection for the little creature, who had determined to stand between his brother and perceived danger even though they had only set eyes on each other less than twenty-four hours previously, when Dean, Sam's protector of the last twenty-three years, was still sat uselessly on the floor. His gratitude was such that he could almost accept the knowledge that the dog would soon have to re-enter his car.

"Go mini Dean." He whispered, making a vow he knew he'd break not to raise his voice at his brother again while the dog remained within earshot.

"…so you see, we really are very sorry." Although Dean noted with a smile, his brother sounded far from sorry. He probably had been about five minutes ago, but now the older man was all but making the sign of the cross in his brother's face, Dean could see Sam's patience was fast running out. That and his ability to remain upright.

It was then Dean remembered his recent cover story. Okay, so he was regretting that now, but how was he supposed to know Sam was going to be at the centre of a mystical convergence within four minutes of him saying it? Besides the fact he was Sam, that is.

"All right, all right, we're going." Dean was finally on his feet and steering his weary brother away from the confrontation, pushing him gently onto the nearest bed, for which Sam smiled gratefully. For all his protestations to the contrary, he was glad that Dean had returned to take charge.

"And while we're getting our stuff together you can go get the money I just gave you for tonight."

"You needn't think you're getting that back." And the elderly man drew himself up to his unimpressive full height. "Damages."

"Damages." Dean echoed incredulously. "There's nothing damaged."

"All that smoke, there's bound to be something broken. And there's that bed sheet. And there'll be dog hair over everything. It'll take days to air out." He was backing out, obviously afraid Dean was going to physically protest. Or that Sam was going to turn him into a slug.

"I want you gone in ten minutes. You're lucky I'm not calling the police. You and that freak of yours better put some distance between you and this town, or…" he seemed at a loss to express what catastrophe could possibly befall them if they didn't comply. "And you can take that dog with you." He bolted to the reception where he remained hidden, eyes peering between the blinds until he was sure they were long gone.

"Come on, freak," Dean said gently, unsure what level of concern he was supposed to exhibit, since he had no idea what had just happened. "Let's get you in the car."

Sam just snorted in frustration, seemingly at the universe as a whole, and Dean was expecting a repeat of his earlier question. But instead Sam struggled to his feet.

"I can manage," he assured his brother with a smile. "Really. I just… I don't know. Let's just get out of here."

Reassured his brother wasn't about to take another swan dive Dean left him collecting together their belongings while he grabbed their supplied from the bathroom. He was glad now that he had gone against his natural inclinations and left his brother in the shower to get breakfast and retrieve his car. They moved in silence and made it to the car well within their given time limit.

"You just gonna let him keep the money?" Sam asked curiously as they pulled onto the road. He didn't expect to see Dean cowed by an old man.

"Yeah, it wasn't that much. It's not worth the agro."

"Sorry," Sam whispered. He knew the torture Dean must have endured getting the money in the first place.

"It's not your fault the guy was an asshole. I'm just glad I only paid for one more night."

"Yeah, but..."

"You had no idea that thing was gonna do…. Whatever it did."

"I know but… if I hadn't insisted we bring the dog he probably wouldn't have heard it," Sam said sadly, struggling to keep the squirming pup in his lap still. If the dog knew it was being talked about it didn't show it. Instead it was excitedly trying to stare out of the passenger window at the world rushing by, and even as Dean remembered his admiration for the little guy's bravery in the face of adversity, he had to wince as its claws hit the door trying to find a decent paw rest to lean and stare from.

"Sorry," Sam said again, with a grin this time, resuming his dog controlling duties. Instead of letting the dog rest its paws against his brother's precious car he held it upright so it could see out of the window, grinning as its tail wagged appreciatively. Even Dean had to smile at their antics. He was beginning to wish they really could keep it, if only to keep the smile the dog always seemed to bring to his brother's face. But he knew as well as Sam there was no practical way they could keep the dog and their current lifestyles. He had heard their father give this lecture to his youngest son enough times to know that by now.

"So. What did happen?" Dean asked at last, pulling the car to a stop at the side of the deserted road, as far from the town as was practical given they still had a job to do.

"I don't know." Sam sighed, looking at him openly and honestly, and Dean knew he wasn't deliberately trying to act innocent.

"Had you been holding it? Did you say something? Did you touch it and let loose with your crazy mind powers?"

"Yes, that must be it." Sam rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious. It's obviously not as inanimate as it seems. Maybe it picked up a vibe from you."

"I think it was more the other way around."

"It vibed you?" Dean asked with his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah… I don't know." Sam was getting frustrated, and now he _was _avoiding his brother's eye.

"Just tell me what happened," Dean probed gently. "Or what you remember," he conceded, resting a reassuring hand on the side of Sam's chair, wanting to provide support but unsure how to go about it. It Sam had somehow tapped into it using his powers, Dean knew he must be pretty freaked out right now, and knowing Sam there was also an unhealthy helping of guilt somewhere in the mix too. Another of life's difficulties they would never have had to face if it weren't for him.

One overly dramatic sigh and some slight squirming later and Sam was ready to begin.

"I was getting some stuff together. The… that was still on the bed," he said, indicating to the cloth now wrapped carefully in a t-shirt by Dean, who had been keen to avoid touching it again just in case, and hidden from sight on the back seat. "I went to pick it up and put it in my bag but, I don't know, I guess I dropped it. It didn't shoot out of my hand or anything dramatic," he stated, noting the look on his brother's face. "I was in a hurry, and I was wondering how to get the dog out, and where to put the blanket while we were gone so that when we got back the whole room wouldn't smell like stale urine, and I wasn't paying attention, so I dropped it."

"And then what happened?"

"Well, I bent down to pick it up," Sam said, practically cringing at the thought.

Dean said nothing. They both knew Sam was restricted in what he could lift and carry these days, and Sam had promised that he would abide by his doctor's advice and not do anything too strenuous. But a piece of fabric would hardly have seemed like a challenge, and if he'd been in a hurry and distracted, Dean knew he probably wouldn't even have thought twice before leaning over to snag it back up.

He also knew it had probably stung like hell.

Sam stared into the distance and Dean didn't rush him. It looked like he was struggling hard to find the words to explain what had happened next. But there were no words, because Sam had no clear recollection. There was darkness. A pain in his side, excruciating and yet not. Muted somehow, as though he knew it hurt but couldn't really feel it. The sensation of floating, like being suspended in water. Cold. Alone. Lost. For the longest time. Voices in the darkness. Screams. A metallic taste in his mouth. Frantic movement around him, invading him, but he couldn't see or feel anything at all but the fear and the pain. And then there was a voice in the darkness. The frantic screaming of his name.

And then there was Dean. It was his voice Sam could hear, and despite the pitch of it, it brought comfort. And then he could see again, and hear, and the motel room came rushing back, and the dog was barking, and Dean was there, and he needed to reach him, he needed to tell him, he needed to not feel alone and not afraid. And then there was darkness again.

"Sam?" Dean's brother was no longer searching his mind for words. He was gripping the sides of his chair so tightly the blood had drained from his fingers, and whatever he was thinking or remembering, he was on the verge of hyperventilating, trying to push the darkness at bay.

A strange acidic smell made Dean's nose twitch, and flicking his eyes from his panicking brother to the object in the back of the car Dean could see faint curls of black smoke beginning to inch their way towards them.

What the… neither of them were anywhere close to touching it.

"Sam," he said again, more urgently, gripping Sam's shoulders and turning him around to face him. Sam's eye's looked so panicked and lost that Dean no longer cared if Sam was aware of what he was going to do. He had made a promise that he was never going to have to see that look in his brother's eyes again.

"Shhh. It's okay," he soothed, pushing his brother's fringe away from his eyes, feeling his forehead but detecting no heat. Nothing to explain the sheen of sweat that had accumulated there. "It's okay," he repeated, allowing his hand to fall slightly to cup his brother's cheek. Sam seemed to melt into his touch, leaning into the contact. "It's okay," Dean said again, noting as he did so that the calmer Sam became the more the smoke seemed to dissipate, until soon the backseat was as clear as it had ever been, and Sam had refrained from trembling and was staring at him instead with large eyes laced with uncertainty.

"You okay now?"

Sam nodded uncertainly, not trusting himself to speak, knowing somehow that it was only Dean's presence, his words and his touch, which were tethering him down, stopping him from slipping away into that blackness.

Tentatively, Sam raised one hand, laying it on top of his brothers, which had yet to leave his face, preventing him from moving it away. He sank his other side into the seat, closing his eyes, knowing his brother would be much more comfortable with the prolonged contact if he didn't have to stare into Sam's eyes while giving it. They remained that way for several long minutes while Sam studiously forced his breathing to return to normal and Dean's whole arm went numb from being extended for so long. He wanted to ask Sam again if he was alright, if there was anything he needed, but his voice was gone. Sam's obvious trust that Dean's mere presence would keep the bad thing at bay had stolen it away.

It was Sam that broke the contact, gently giving Dean his hand back and sliding back around in his seat until he was facing the windscreen once more.

"The newspaper report said it looked like the victims had been scared to death?" he questioned, knowing full well the answer. He was the one who had picked this case out after all.

Dean nodded, still not trusting himself to speak despite the fact Sam was obviously not going to bring up the colossal brotherly bonding moment that had just taken place.

"Maybe it feeds of a person's fear. Drags out negative emotions. I think we were in the right place last night, but you moved it before anyone could trigger it."

"But why didn't anything trigger it? I carried it around most of the night. We were both handling it this morning, how come nothing set it off until after I'd gone?"

"Well, what were you feeling when you found it?"

"I don't know. Not much of anything really. Vague curiosity I suppose, but..."

"Nothing negative…" Sam probed, but it was more like a statement.

"No. If anything, kind of excited maybe," Dean replied with a guilty grin. "It felt good to be back out there again, you know? But why did it wait until…. Pain." Dean said, nodding with sudden understanding. "It reacted to your pain when you touched it again. When you were picking it up. That's a negative emotion alright, and strong enough to set it off."

Sam just nodded in confirmation, not quite sure what to say. 'Sorry' and 'oopse' were on the tip of his tongue but neither seemed to cut it somehow.

"So what do we do now?"

"Think happy thoughts," Sam responded, flashing his brother a rueful smile, and Dean finally felt able to relax.

"I suppose that would be a good idea. No negative emotions until the job is done. Oh, I'm gonna have so much fun with this one," Dean teased. "I'm gonna let my every annoying habit have free reign for the rest of the day, and you're gonna have to refrain from bitching about it."

"Dean, you do that anyway."

"Yeah. But I won't have to listen to you whining about it. "

Sam stared at his brother in open mouthed incredulity.

"I'm pretty sure those are some negative thoughts you got running through your head there little brother," Dean teased.

"Well I'm imagining causing you pain, but I'm feeling pretty good about it, so I think we're safe."

"So what now?" Dean asked again, falling serious once more. "We need to learn more about it. Like how to turn it off would be a good thing. Now it's latched onto you it doesn't seem to need physical contact to get up and running again. Hey, that wasn't an accusation; I'm just stating a fact. We just need to keep you away from it until we've figured this out."

"But how do we know it's just me? I mean, I set it off - and, you know, sorry about that - but we have no way of knowing if its limited to just my emotions now it's up and running. I mean, I could torture you and see what happens, but…"

"I think it's a safe enough assumption. A specific set of emotions and memories triggered it; it's probably locked onto your frequency or something now."

Sam looked doubtful, but didn't want to risk the frustration of arguing about it.

"Well… if this is what we came here looking for then we found it. I think it's safe to keep moving until we find somewhere else to set up base."

"Unless we want to go back and find out who put it there." Sam felt like he was stating the obvious.

"Eventually, but I think priority one is breaking whatever connection this thing has formed with you. If we head back into the city we'll have access to the main library, there's more of a chance of maybe finding something to explain what we've got going on here."

"Someone's going to need to make a copy of it." Sam replied reluctantly, knowing full well it wasn't going to be him. "You said yourself, I'm library boy, but I'm going need to know what I'm looking for."

"You sure you're up to this?" It was Dean's turn to look doubtful.

"The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can stop having to be nice to you," Sam joked.

"Seriously…"

"I'm okay. And we're only going to a library. I'll just sit, you can do all the fetching and carrying required, alright?"

"And you'll say something, the second you don't feel 100 per cent?"

"I thought I was allowed to 75," Sam protested.

"85 per cent," Dean replied with a grin. "My final offer."

"Deal. Now get copying, oh scribe you."

Dean stared at the back seat with some trepidation, then, as though receiving divine inspiration he lent purposefully over his brother and fumbled through the tape box until he'd found his favourite Metallica tape, switched on the engine and slotted it in the deck.

"Seriously." Sam didn't know whether to be exasperated or amused

"Just a precaution." Dean protested. "It sooths me. You wanna take a walk?"

"Not really," Sam said, eyeing the barren roadside surrounding them.

"Sam." It was that stern big brother tone that Sam knew could only be obeyed, so with a groan he opened the passenger door, pushing the dog out before him. Dean watched them walk away, but Sam refused to go too far, and Dean knew he was keeping the car clearly within his sight so he could watch out for the tell tale signs of black smoke.

Slowly, Dean unwrapped the mystery package, singing along to Metallica and trying not to let his mind focus on the image of his brother's panicked face. Just in case. Although in truth he was more annoyed at it for messing with his brother than afraid of it anyway. Now they had an idea what they were up against he would be sure to guard against it. He watched Sam wandering around outside the car conversing with the puppy, and he couldn't hide the glow he felt knowing it was somehow his own simple presence that had kept Sam's fears at bay. Their lives had become so messed up and confused in recent months that Dean had never expected Sam would respond to such simple means of comfort. When they were kids, yes. Dean's presence had always been enough to scare the monsters and the nightmares away. But Sam had grown up and gone away, and Dean had thought nothing would ever be simple between them again.

"OK, we're all set," Dean called out, sliding back into the front seat of the car.

"You just gonna sit there?" Sam asked with an amused grin, peering in through a crack he had opened in the passenger door.

""Well. Yeah." Dean was confused.

"Okay," Sam replied in a cheery 'it's your funeral' kind of voice before opening the door fully and allowing his new playmate to scramble its way up into the foot well. As cute as the little guy looked Dean cringed at the sound of claws levering their way up against his paintwork, and when it raised inquisitive paws to attempt to jump unprotected onto his leather seats he lunged forwards to snatch it midair with a stream of colourful expletives.

"Careful!" Sam protested in alarm. The dog too yipped in fright and distress, and as soon as Sam was seated he held out his arms to take the dog from Dean's dangling grasp. "Don't hurt him." And Dean felt genuine guilt at the level of accusation in his brother's tone.

"Well what did you really expect?"

"That you would have had the sense to get out and pick him up, you know I can't." and Sam cradled the animal to his chest whispering nonsense insults against his brother in an effort to calm it. It continued to squirm until it kicked out with a hind leg and prodded Sam in the ribs, and at his startled gasp the dog fell silent looking, if possible, remorseful, and tried instead to lick Sam's face in apology.

"Well fido didn't set it off." Dean broke the silence at last. He wanted to apologise for his oversight, but knew that his brother would not take kindly to Dean's guilt over the fact he had forgotten to treat Sam like an invalid for once, so he kept silent on the matter. But he made a promise to himself to check out the paintwork below the passenger door at the earliest possible convenience, and god help them both if he didn't like what he saw. "Kinda fits the 'it's just you' theory."

"Because it's not affected by a dog!" Sam was back to incredulous again. "I know we haven't been on a hunt in a while, but seriously…"

Dean merely huffed a little in the driver's seat before both simultaneously took in a calming breath, held, and relaxed, catching each other's eye with a slight smile.

"What are we gonna do with him?" Sam stroked the puppy sadly. "We took him far away from home."

"Home was a cardboard box next to a dumpster. He shared it with rats bigger than him; I really don't think he minds."

"Yeah, but still."

"You should have seen him going after that thing man." Dean told him with a smile. "I think you found an honorary ghost hunter there."

"You know, he probably saw something of the two most recent attacks."

"You know, I'm not sure I like where this is going."

"I'm just saying, it must have been a little freaky for him. You think it's possible he saw whatever started this?"

"Don't do this," Dean sighed.

"I'm not doing anything, I'm just making conversation." But he had the good grace to look ashamed and Dean knew he knew exactly what he was being accused of.

"I warned you not to get attached. We can't take him with us."

"Well not if you're gonna have a freak out every time he gets in the car," Sam said, a little harsher than he had meant to.

"That's one reason," Dean relented. "I can think of a few more. Want me to list them for you?"

"No thanks. I think I still have this speech memorised."

"Well you heard it often enough. You know, maybe you do have some kind of 'distressed animal beacon' thing going on. Even as a kid you always managed to attract them."

"He wasn't distressed, were you?" Sam addressed the dog before glaring at his brother with a knowing smile. "He kicked your ass."

"What!"

"Oh please. You ran like a little girl, you think I didn't see that?"

"I didn't… sound travels differently in the dark. It was an enclosed space. Made him sound a lot bigger than he actually is."

"I'm sure… But he won't be little forever. Look at the size of these paws. You're gonna grow into a beast aren't you."

"All the more reason why he isn't going to live in my car." Dean couldn't help but note Sam's crestfallen look. "You are still messing with me with this, right?" he almost dreaded the answer.

"Yeess." Sam said defensively and somewhat petulantly, in a tone Dean had long ago learnt to interpret as 'I'm lying to you because I want you to think I'm a big boy now'.

"Oh Sam." Dean smiled through a wave of nostalgia. There was no question in Dean's mind that Sam was no longer that innocent kid, but at times he could make it hard not to see the five year old Dean still horded within himself.

"Okay. I suggest we take it to the shelter sooner rather than later. Just in case." Dean knew his brother was referring to his increasingly wavering resolve.

"He's friendly, and he's a puppy. They won't have trouble finding him a home."

As if he knew what was being said, the puppy turned on Dean with its enormous sad eyes and whined.

"Ohh." Sam groaned. "Look at it. How can you deny it anything?" he said, raising the dog's eyes in line with his own once more.

"I can't that's the problem." Dean muttered. "I don't have to, he's your responsibility remember."

"God, just drive."

To his credit Sam didn't say anything. It was Dean that was filled with the slight tingling of fate at the fact the next motel they came across had a large sign pronouncing 'Pets Welcome' in the forecourt.

"You know, pets are supposed to be stress reducing," he said thoughtfully, eyeing Sam's calm demeanour as he lazily scratched at the dogs ears. "There have been, like, studies on it and everything."

"And..?"

"It's just… maybe, given the circumstances. It couldn't hurt to keep him around a little while longer."

"No, I'm just gonna get more attached," Sam said sadly.

Dean knew his brother was right, but he pushed the matter anyway. "We don't know what to with him though, and by the time we've looked into it, maybe driven to wherever the shelter is, that's a whole day of research wasted. We need to figure this out sooner rather than later, who knows how many more of these things are out there. And whoever made this one might have noticed it's gone and replaced it by now."

Dean knew he was getting through to his brother, and was quite proud of his logical explanation, when in truth his desire to keep the dog around had absolutely nothing to do with logic and everything to do with his desperate need to keep his brother alive.

The dog had a calming effect on Sam, that much was clear. They didn't know what kind of a range this weird device had. Would it pick up on Sam's emotions from the motel room if they left it in the car? He wasn't prepared to risk it, because he knew with a paralysing certainty that if Sam had a nightmare, he would die, and Dean would have slept through it. Short of staying awake and keeping watch all night, which he would have done under normal circumstances, the alternative would be snuggling under the cover with Sam to provide a reassuring physical contact at all times, and no way in hell was that going to happen. If he went without sleep himself, then they would both be going into the job not at full strength, which was potentially just as much of a risk.

A moody and pining Sam beat a dead Sam any day of the week.

If Sam guessed at his brother's true motivation he didn't say anything. "Fine, go check us in." Dean visibly stiffened at the idea of leaving Sam out of his sight. "I can stay calm for five minutes, Dean," he exclaimed in a tone that suggested otherwise. Dean just continued to stare. "Fine. I'm outta the car," he said, scooping the puppy up and slamming the Impala's door harder than was strictly necessary.

Dean checked them in, breaking into a fresh new card, relieved to find his paranoid fear that their last patron would have phoned ahead blackballing them proved to be unfounded.

The elderly man behind the desk insisted on personally escorting Dean to their room and helping to carry any bags they might have, but Dean had the suspicion he just wanted to see what kind of dog they had brought with them. "He's small, but he's trained," Dean had lied reassuringly.

They exited the reception building to find Sam had acquired yet another new friend. And he wondered why Dean was loathed to let him out of his sight. This time it was not a new puppy however, but a small girl, barely more than two, who was clinging to the puppy in Sam's arms with ill contained adoration. Sam had crouched down to her level, which Dean made a note to chastise him about at the earliest possible convenience, and was holding the dog out for her to pet. Both looked positively thrilled with this arrangement.

As Dean approached the girl looked up at him with eyes so large they'd didn't look as though they belonged on the face of a normal child. Dean groaned.

"No. We're not keeping her. A line has to be drawn somewhere."

"Molly, come on. You leave these boys alone now, you hear me," the old man at Dean's side called out to her. "My Granddaughter," he explained to Dean in a whisper, "can't seem to keep her away from people. Now she knows you have a puppy in that room there'll be no getting rid of her I'm afraid."

"She's okay," Sam assured him, and Dean could tell from his darting eyes he was wondering how to get back up again.

Dean pointedly ignored his predicament, and with a look of ill disguised anguish Sam was forced to relinquish his hold on the dog to have his hands free to leaver himself upright once more.

The puppy chirped happily and bounded off after the little girl. It had been cooped up in a car for too long. Surely it was playtime.

Dean did his best to hide his laughter at his brother's hurt as he watched the dog leave him behind for its newest playmate. He handed his brother the key and told him to open up while he got their bags from the car, wanting to put a stop to the jealous look he was giving the giggling girl.

"Sorry," her grandfather told him. "It's just there's not much for her to do around here during the day while I'm working, I'm afraid your dog may have become something of a fixation for her."

"Well…" Dean mused, "My brother and I were going to be heading out in a little while. We have some errands we have to run in town. If she wanted… I mean, if it wouldn't be too much trouble… she's welcome to have him keep her company while we're gone. It would save us the trouble of taking him with us. We'll be back as soon as we can…" he trailed off, not sure how his idea was going down.

"If you're sure." It was said with such genuine excitement Dean laughed. He sensed it wasn't only the little girl that would enjoy having the dog around. "Feel free to take your time. He'll be perfectly safe with us, I promise."

Dean nodded his thanks. Now he just had to break the good news to Sam, and he wasn't sure how kindly he would take to the suggestion. Sam's emotions must really be all over the place for him to be jealous of a child when he had never really exhibited such covetous behaviour before, even as a child himself. Despite his earlier promise to ease off on his watchfulness, Dean vowed to be extra vigilant as far as his brother was concerned. Just until the job was done.

Just as Dean was thinking this he was given a firm reminder that perhaps Sam's choice of name for the dog, even in jest, might not have been the insult it seemed. With a startled howl, echoed by the girl, it seemed to suddenly realise that it had somehow let Sam slip out of its sight, and the girl and her tickling was soon forgotten as he bounded away in search. Dean could have sworn it was actually tracking his brother's scent as it followed him through the open motel door.

That could be a handy skill to have around…

No… focus.

"I know, but it's gonna take me like ten minutes to get down there to you," Sam laughed as the puppy danced around his newly found legs. It rolled over onto its back offering Sam its stomach in apology for having abandoned him. Sam just looked down at it sadly.

"Don't even think it," Dean growled, following the dog in with their bags. It had taken all his powers of persuasion to insist their host didn't need to help them with their bags. He really didn't need the old man looking in the trunk and having a freak out at the assortment they kept in there.

"I wasn't going to."

"Good," Dean said, relenting and bending down to give the little dog the attention it craved. Any hurt it might have felt that Sam was seemingly ignoring it soon fled when Dean crouched down beside it.

"Ha. He knows you're warming to him now," Sam crowed, then more seriously, "What are we gonna do with him while we're out. I don't think the old man's gonna take to kindly to an untrained puppy locked indefinitely in one of his rooms."

"Actually, they've offered to watch him. It'll keep the kid quiet and entertained for the afternoon anyway. If you can bear to share him that is," Dean finished with a knowing smile.

"Yeah. I suppose it's the only option we have really. Where're we gonna keep the creepy thing while we're gone?"

"I dunno. Maybe it'll be safer to leave it here. This place seems fairly quiet. I don't want to park the car in a densely populated area and find out it _is_ attracted to other people after all."

"Even though the dog didn't set it off?" Sam enquired innocently.

"Yeah…"

"Okay. Let me get some stuff together." And for the second time that day Sam began his task of collecting his research materials together.

Leaving the dog proved to be harder than expected. Even Dean found it hard to contain a slight lip tremble at the hurt and confused whine it gave off as it watched Sam walk away. But Sam was determined to remain strong, although Dean had the sneaking suspicion he was humming quietly to himself in an effort to block out the sound.

Despite Dean's overpowering need to have this job over and done with he also insisted they stop somewhere to eat first. Their peaceful breakfast seemed a long time ago. In so many ways. When they finally made it to the library Sam remained true to his word and took a seat tucked away in a more secluded corner, and sent Dean off to do the fetching and carrying.

"You could at least come with me and point out what you want to read. How do you know I'm not missing the good stuff?"

"I highly doubt a town library houses the good stuff."

"This is true. There's gotta be something worth a read though."

Sam settled himself down for a wait, but Dean returned in barely any time at all, with only a handful of small texts.

"What, no giant tombs? Where's the fun in that?"

Dean returned to his internet search while Sam flicked through the books. Now they knew they were dealing with an entity that drained, possibly fed off, emotions, he had more to go on than his previous search, limited to 'scary things that kill. Oh, no obvious external wounds'.

Dean had copied the symbols down over several sheets of paper in an effort to avoid replicating the effect that certain combination and order might produce. There was no way the library was well equipped enough to tell Sam what the collective whole was, so he concentrated instead on the individual components. He started with the easy ones, the 'everyday' symbols and runes that he was already familiar with, drawing out a copy of the fabric with translated words in place of the symbols, hoping a full translation would make more sense. His next port of call was their father's journal, but he had read it so many times now it served to merely confirm his earlier work, and Sam didn't know whether he was impressed at himself for managing the translations solo, annoyed with the journal for providing no additional help, or mildly depressed he had recognised as many of them as he did.

Those he had already figured out seemed to cover a wide spectrum of cultures and beliefs. It was though whoever was doing this was covering all their bases as far as external aid might be concerned.

With that in mind Sam decided to put a halt to his search for the supernatural element, and wandered away in search of the library's surprisingly well stocked languages section. With a silent curse Dean scurried after him. He was loathed to leave their laptop and research unguarded, but there didn't seem to be anyone inside the library but themselves so decided it was worth the risk. Sam was secretly glad he had. The dictionaries he wanted were unusually large and on the top shelves.

"You just wanted something old and musty didn't you?" Dean grouched as he lugged down a heavy Japanese/English dictionary, but secretly he was impressed with the way his little brother's mind worked. He would have been focusing on what it was and how to stop it, not how to read it. He couldn't decide whether Sam's natural curiosity was a good thing or not, but it was back, and Dean found comfort in that.

In fact, he couldn't help but smile as he watched his brother work, checking and cross checking, about eight different books open in front of him, eyes darting backwards and forwards but always knowing exactly where to reach next. Dean didn't think he'd seen him looking quite so contented in months. Sam had always loved any excuse to have a good rummage through a pile of books, even when they were kids. It really shouldn't have been any surprise that he'd wanted to go away to school. Their father had been meticulous in his note taking too, but Sam could put almost any hunter Dean knew to shame, without thinking twice about whether the effort was really needed.

He smiled as the thought hit him. Dad had sent them co-ordinates to get to where they were needed. If they were ever separated, Dean knew Sam would send him a five page e-mail complete with footnotes and page references, meaning all Dean would have to do was turn up and shoot.

"Huh." Dean knew Sam didn't really require an answer to his own grunt of curiosity, so he left him to it, returning instead to the search engine in front of him. He could tell Sam was onto something however by the way his movements had picked up slightly, seemed more purposeful somehow.

He was right, and it wasn't long before Sam broke the silence.

"What've you got?" Dean asked, moving next to him to take in the translated copy Sam set in front of him.

"Well, it's pretty much the same few sets of words or ideas repeated over and over in different languages," Sam explained. "These," he pointed to a scattering of the symbols Dean had transcribed for him, and the older brother smiled. Sam was clearly enjoying himself. "They all mean 'emotions' or 'senses' or something similar, and the symbols range from Chinese and Japanese to Celtic, even Sumerian. The rest of them are pretty much groups of different emotions, I'm guessing the kinds that would set it off. 'Fear', 'pain', 'guilt', 'loneliness', 'despair'… well, you get the idea. Towards the bottom though, it changes. It moves on to ideas of 'containment', maybe 'storage'. There's something about extraction somewhere, oh yeah, over here. There's also something about 'releasing' and 'reversal' but it's not too clear. They're mixed in with words like 'danger' and some kind of numbers, almost like a timescale. And there's some mention of blood, but I'm not sure in what context. Sorry."

"You're saying this could be some kind of storage device? It absorbs the relevant emotions, which can be released at a later date?"

"I guess so. But, I mean… is that even possible."

"22 years Sammy. Don't you think we're a little bit past that now?"

"Yeah, but…." Sam still looked doubtful.

"Hey, _you_ translated it."

They fell silent, both lost in their own musings, before Sam voiced what they were both thinking,

"Why?"

"I dunno. Portable lunchables?"

"You find anything out?" Sam asked, nodding towards the laptop Dean had just vacated.

"Nothing that we didn't really already know. Pretty much every culture has a legend about some kind of creature that feeds of a person's emotions and life force. Drains them dry. In fact…" he continues, pulling Sam's papers towards him, "Every one of the cultures covered here. Sometimes the presiding emotion they feed off is different. They're not all negative either. But it seems like whoever left this, that's all they were interested in."

"You think it was a person?"

"I don't know. But if you had the ability to suck the life outta people, why would you go to the time and effort if creating something that replicated the effect?"

"But if you didn't feed off it yourself, why bother collecting it at all? It doesn't sound like these things would make very ideal pets."

"Oh, don't even go there. I keep telling you Sammy, people are crazy…. Oh my God." A sudden thought hit Dean, "If this thing stores negative emotion, and you set it off…twice… does that mean there's like, a part of you in there? Are you being stored?" Dean looked vaguely nauseous at the thought.

"I don't think so. I mean, I like to think I'd notice. I'm not feeling any less soulful that I was yesterday." Sam smiled reassuringly.

"No tireder. Dizzy…"

"No, I feel fine. You said there was black smoke? What's that about?"

"I'm not sure," Dean murmured thoughtfully, trying to take Sam's reassurances to heart. "Maybe it acts as some kind of transference medium. I vote we don't take the opportunity to find out."

"I don't think there's much more we can do here," Sam mumbled, doing his best to firstly stifle a yawn, and then ignore the frown it elicited from his brother.

"You're right. We can do another search on the laptop back at the motel, ring around and see if anyone has any ideas why something might need to store emotions for a later date."

With that they returned to their room. The little dog was overjoyed at their return, Molly less so, and with only a feeling of mild guilt Sam lay down for an unprompted nap leaving Dean with the task of both phoning their contacts and an internet search. Dean didn't complain however, and for once he actually hoped Sam's weariness was caused by his own fragility and not the effects of the evil soul draining fabric. They would need to make another trip back to the ally they had staked out the evening before in case the perpetrator returned or more items had been placed, and Sam would need to be rested if he was to make the journey. As much as he wanted to lock Sam away in a safe quiet room and not let him out for the rest of his life, Dean also had to contend with the conflicting desire never to let his brother out of sight or beyond his easy reach ever again. Since Sam's natural inclination to accompany Dean tonight would pander to the second of these needs, Dean was willing to allow his continued participation. But he would need to sleep to be up for it.

With a weary sigh of his own Dean reached for the phone.

"Yeah, thanks Bobby. No, I'm hoping it's nothing like that either, but it doesn't hurt to be informed. Give me a call back if you hear anything."

Sam's whole body felt heavy, and even though he assumed he was now awake it seemed like way too much hassle to open his eyes. He could hear Dean moving around in the confined space of the motel room and knew he was trying his best not to make enough noise to be wakeful. Even though he was speaking he was doing his best to keep his voice low, and Sam was vaguely aware that he was glad Dean had the sense not to make the calls outside. Not because he knew Molly would have overheard them, but because it was cold.

"Hey Ash. Sorry, he's sleeping; you gotta deal with me so you'll have to keep it simple. Small words only. No, he's doing okay, just tired. Yeah…."

He tuned out the sounds. He couldn't really concentrate on what they meant. He was stuck somewhere between sleeping and wakefulness, and he couldn't make his mind up which way he wanted to drift. On the one side was Dean, who he should have been helping, and on the other was warm inviting nothingness.

It was a familiar choice, and as comforting as it felt he knew the blackness could be deceiving. Posed as a friend while really it stole his time and strength. Maybe he should go back, just in case. It had taken so long to break free the last time.

Sam tried to move his hand, his arm, as though that would somehow allow him to cling to the waking world, but his movements were too cumbersome and his eyes refused to open to find out why. He tried to call out for help - Dean was there, Dean had always been there in the past, lurking just out of range, concealed in the black - but his voice sounded mute and pathetic in his own ears, and even he couldn't work out what the words were supposed to be. But it didn't matter. The exact words never had.

"Shit… Dude, I'm gonna have to call you back." Ash had been talking a mile a minute into his ear, but for Dean nothing would ever be as loud as the confused whimper that had just left his brother's mouth.

Sam was lying on his side facing the empty bed opposite, and as much as Dean's natural impulse was to skirt around the bed so his efforts at comfort were concealed behind his brother's back, Sam's reaching hand needed to be seized, forcing Dean to approach his brother head on.

Sam seemed to calm slightly when his fingers closed around his brother's hand.

"Sammy?" The fingers squeezed gently in response, and it broke Dean's heart how weak his brother's grip was, even when he was clinging with all his might, pulling on the offered arm, and Dean could tell he wasn't trying to bring Dean closer so much as drag himself out of whatever emotional void he had fallen into.

Sam called out again, and this time Dean caught what he chose to interpret as his own name. "I'm still here Sammy," he whispered reassuringly, eyes darting frantically to the doorway, thankful he had had the foresight to remove the original material from the room and back into the car, working only from the translations Sam had made. "It's okay, but I think you need to wake up now… come on." Dean hated that his voice broke, hated that Sam must have heard it, terrified that proof of fear might stop him from venturing back from wherever he'd gone. It had been a while since he'd had such a nightmare. Sam had been unconscious for so long that he had somehow found the transition from sleep to waking disorientating and confusing, but that had been in those initial days in the hospital, the neutral territory of which had somehow made more overt displays of comfort and affection allowable and more natural. Now, as much as Dean was loathed to admit it, he was at a complete loss what to do.

"Sammy…" it was barely above a whisper, and he moved his other hand forwards to clasp his brother's shoulder. Sam didn't know whether it was this extra touch or the trembling plea that had barely made it past his brother's lips that snapped him back into awareness, but his eyes flicked open so quickly he was in time to actually witness Dean's jump of surprise at the move.

Dean had spent too many hours in this position, perched on the edge of his little brother's bed, Sam's hand clasped tightly within his own, praying for a return to wakefulness. In that moment he felt the crushing weight of every one of them, and it took everything he had to fight down the gasp of shock as the air left his lungs. If he'd had any strength left he would have fled, ran from the room as fast as he could to put as much distance between himself and the ghosts of those long nights as he was able, but Sam had taken all of the strength from him. Even as he griped tight on the one finger of Dean's he had folded in his own hand, a silent gesture of reassurance so childlike in its innocence, Dean felt a little more of his sanity leaving him.

Sam could have it. If it gave him the energy to raise his head or get out of bed he could have it all.

But it seemed at the moment that Sam had no interest in doing either of these things. Instead he chose to stare at his brother with those huge soul filled eyes. The worry and confusion was yet to leave them, but his own waking nightmare was forgotten.

"Dean?"

His brother twitched slightly in response to his name, but made no other move to answer, and Sam realised this was the second time that day that he'd woken disorientated only to find Dean too had managed to lose himself in Sam's absence.

"Dean." He tried to keep the panic out of his voice but Sam wad always been unnerved to see his brother still. In Sam's experience Dean was only ever still when he was stalking something particularly nasty or dying, neither of which were a source of comfort.

This time his word made it through and Dean shook his head slightly, as though trying to rid it of a haze, before fixing his fake smile back into place.

"So… what did you find out? You talked to Bobby and Ash?" Sam's voice was so dry he could barely get out the words. He struggled up into a sitting position, cursing his own weakness and the look in Dean's eyes when he automatically moved to help him, and when Sam didn't move to push the assistance away. He knew Dean's level of worry, which had been unhealthily high, bordering on obsession, before they had come here, had only continued to increase with every passing hour of the job. Sam knew he was to blame for Dean's paralysing bouts of anxiety but to draw attention to them, and the reason behind them, would probably just cause Dean another. The best thing Sam could think to do was to let Dean lose himself in a bit of violence, and then as soon as this hunt was over they could both rest. As much as Sam hated to admit it, it would be a while before he suggested another job. Unless Sam had a vision any time soon he would officially let himself be benched. Remembering the look of blind panic and terror on Dean's face the last time he had brought up having a vision, back when such an occurrence would have given them something to do, Sam though that might be the thing that would finally push Dean over his emotional limit.

"Um… yeah." Dean was searching through the fog in his mind. He knew the answer to Sam's question should not have been this difficult, but for some reason the tone of Sam's voice had been clearer than his words. It always was. "Yeah."

"They have any ideas what possible use stored emotions could be to anyone?" Sam prompted, and the pieces suddenly fit.

"Apparently they're a lot more useful than you might think. There's any number of spell and charms that work a lot better with a bit of fear or despair in the mix. There's quite a black market trade going on. You'd be surprised the price one of these babies could fetch. There aren't that many ways of extracting the amount and quality of this stuff needed without getting your hands dirty, so buying one of these…"

"I can't imagine the kind of people that would need it being all that squeamish personally."

"Well, anyway. An easy, hassle free source. You can't put a price on that… or apparently you can. Bobby's gonna ring around a few sources, see if anyone's heard of any underground traders in the area that might have the power and resources to set something like this up. In the meantime I think we need to go back to the scene, have another look around. Last time we were there I was thinking 'beasty' so it's possible we missed something."

Sam nodded, surprised that he was obviously being included in Dean's plans, but he wasn't going to question it. It would be easier to keep an eye on his brother if he was in the alley with him than it would be from a motel room two towns over.

"It'll be dark soon; we should get a move on," was all he said.

"Grandpa's already offered to keep the dog for the night. In case we want to check out the local nightlife. I think we should take him up on the offer…. Fat lot of good you were anyway," Dean chided under his breath.

Half an hour later they were back on the road, and Sam found it hard to keep down the waves of foreboding that were getting stronger the closer they got to their destination. Under normal circumstances he would have said something, but he knew well enough that this was not a tingling feeling linked to his abilities telling him something about the job, but the voice of his own common sense - which he was doing his best to ignore.

Dean's behaviour was erratic. He had said practically nothing of importance since Sam had woke, and he could feel Dean's eyes constantly watching, even if he never caught Dean at it. Dean was going in distracted, but he would never admit it. That was the only reason Sam had summoned the energy to drag himself along, because he knew Dean would happily have gone without him. He'd made that clear enough the night before. He wanted to have reached a point in their relationship by now where if Sam admitted that neither of them was physically or mentally ready to be out, Dean would take him seriously, but Sam doubted they were there. He would be told to stay behind, and Dean wouldn't have even Sam's doubtful cover watching his back.

They passed the journey in silence, but Dean seemed to be a little more like himself by the time he was pulling into a lay-by at the edge of town. It was already dark out and they didn't want to risk alerting whatever might be waiting for them to their presence with the rumble of the car. They would continue form here on foot.

"You think it's a good idea to take it with us?" Sam asked, eyeing the still carefully wrapped bundle Dean was currently stuffing into his jacket pocket.

"I dunno, but it could be useful. Might need it as a bargaining chip or something. Bait."

Sam's bad feeling increased but he had the sense not to say anything. He couldn't decide whether or not Dean's overprotective paranoia would be reduced to locking him in the car in the middle of nowhere.

Considering the damage he could do to the car trying to get out, probably not. But given Dean's present mood he wasn't willing to risk it.

The walk seemed longer than Sam remembered, perhaps because Dean was leading at an incredibly slow 'ever wary' pace, eyes on the alert in case anything jumped them from the shadows. Sam was doubtful that anything would, not while they were still in an area with street lamps, and Dean was being vigilant enough for the both of them. He tried hard not to let his mind wander, but Dean was being unusually jumpy and it was hard not to be concerned. Unfortunately when this train of thought had Sam so preoccupied he walked straight into his brother's back and nearly bounced backwards onto the floor, the level of Dean's overt unease only increased.

When they reached the warehouse at the end of the alley where he had waited during their previous stakeout, Sam paused. He knew Dean had only left him here 'guarding the rear' to keep him out of the way while allowing him to feel involved, but he had assumed that would still be the plan.

"We can find a place further down," Dean whispered, tugging on his sleeve to keep him moving. "If we stick to the centre we'll be able to view the whole street. Nothing will slip by us, and there's enough shelter to keep us hidden."

Sam couldn't hide a scowl at why Dean had failed to mention this last night, leaving him stuck on the sidelines in the freezing cold trying to pretend to himself he was performing a valid role.

"I'm not leaving you alone here; we still haven't got rid of the stray you attracted last time."

"That's not my fault, you…"

"Shhh." Dean said it with such emphasis Sam started, actually looking around to see what Dean had seen, but when his brother moved off into the darkness he realised Dean hadn't even noticed his own tone.

"Ohh, this is going to go well…" he whispered, following his brother's retreating back.

Dean decided the best course of action was to replace the emotion absorbing fabric back where he had found it, hoping to lure anyone returning for it out into the open. There had been no reported deaths in the area, but they knew whoever was to remove the cloth needed to do so before the alley became a crime scene, otherwise the item would be confiscated and lost.

"So that probably means they'll do a sweep later tonight to see if they've snared anything yet." Dean was surprisingly confident about this plan. Sam was just worried. And cold. But he did a valiant effort of concealing both of these facts. That Dean didn't push him on his silence over the plan, or point out the fact whoever had placed the cloth had probably long ago realised it was missing, and therefore might be a little suspicious to find it suddenly back in place again, only concerned Sam more, but a silent stake out was hardly the best place to start an argument, so instead he settled himself as comfortably as he could against an old dumpster and tried not to shiver too much. Or fall asleep.

Dean was not impressed. Sam's attention span was smaller than the puppies. He could tell Sam was trying to focus on the job, but whenever Dean glanced in his direction he was staring blankly into space, his expression hard to read but not at all positive. He was just about to call him on it when he saw Sam tense, his hand flying to Dean's shoulder to draw his attention. Dean frowned, shifting uncomfortably. Okay, so the one not actually paying any attention had spotted something coming.

Putting it down to Sam's 'Sammy senses' did nothing to make him feel better.

Dean squinted into the shadows to take in the form Sam had seen. A tall figure dressed all in black was slowly making its way down the alley towards them. Whether foe or innocent victim seemed to be answered by the careful way it was moving, doing its best not to make a sound, clinging close to the walls where it was more concealed. Dean was having a hard time tracking its movements and he knew it was there. He was silently amazed his brother had spotted it at all.

The way the figure stopped to examine the cloth Dean had replaced told the older hunter all he needed to know. It knew exactly what it was, and if the glint in its eye was anything to go by, it also knew it had been activated. It was that glint, which Dean mistook for triumph, which got him moving. Whoever that figure was, it had deliberately set out to hurt, to kill innocent people for profit, but Dean wasn't even thinking about the five bodies scattered across the rest of the town. His entire focus was on the trembling hand he had just removed from his shoulder. Whoever was out there had hurt his brother. Had preyed on his vulnerability. Would have seen him lose himself in the depth of his own fears, and then sold his life force to the highest bidder. Dean could hear, feel, or sense nothing but his own intense hatred for the thing in front of him. No one, simply no one, messed with his brother.

Dean was too emotionally preoccupied. It was Sam who saw the glimmer in the newcomer's eyes for what it really was. A strange mixture of anticipation and suspicion. Of course it had realised the object had been moved. If it was as valuable as Dean seemed to think, it would have been kept close watch over, perhaps even tracked. The figure knew they had taken it, and it knew they had returned it. Their only advantage now was the fact they, too, were concealed in the darkness, and it apparently had no idea whereabouts in the alley they were.

He felt Dean tense, felt him push his hand away and poise to stand, but even at that point Sam didn't honestly think his brother would be stupid enough to act now, with no plan, no organised assault, and this target so obviously anticipating the move.

Unfortunately for them both, Sam was wrong. After dwelling on it constantly for the last couple of hours, he had failed to take Dean's over protective nature into consideration. He had never really stopped to contemplate what Dean would do when presented with a threat to his little brother that he could physically face, and it was a frightening spectacle. Not for the first time Sam was glad he was on the calmer side of Deans' protective wall.

"Dean!" he hissed, not caring that it gave away their location if it got his brother to stop, but Dean's vengeance fuelled momentum was past the point of no return, and if anything Sam's frantic warning had only increased the veil of his anger. With a world weary curse Sam scrambled to his feet and made to follow at a safer distance and speed, wondering which weapon stashed over various parts of his body would be the best choice, the gun in the waist band of his jeans, the one with the silver bullets in his jacket or the knife at his calf, when in reality they didn't even know what they were facing. It could be human for all they knew.

Dean reached out and grasped his opponent with a cry of blind rage, spinning him around so he could look him in the eye as he beat him to death, but to his surprise his hands closed on empty air. With a speed and agility it knew its attacker would never have dreamt to suspect, it sidestepped Dean's lunge. Sam didn't even have time to shout a warning to his brother, but it didn't matter. The expected death blow didn't fall. One moment he was watching in horror as Dean was pushed aside by the figure moving past him, and the next his arms were pinned to his side by an arm fixed tightly across his chest, while another hovered close to his throat, holding what was unmistakably a knife.

Dean grimaced as he hit the alley floor. He might not have been prepared for the move but he was well trained and regained his balance in seconds. He was just about to push himself off from the ground for a second go when a cold voice hit him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Oh yeah, and why exactly would I…"

"Dean!" His brother's gasp was harshly cut short but it stopped Dean in his tracks. The exact meaning behind Sam's tone was unclear, but the fear in it was undeniable. Over what Dean felt like was the course of hours he slowly lifted his eyes to meet his brother's gaze, and every part of his mind wished that he hadn't.

Dean deflated like he had been punched. The air left his lungs in a silent curse, and even as his brain screamed that it needed to stay sharp for Sammy, Dean's body betrayed it. Or maybe it reacted badly to the word sharp. Either way, the knees that had been preparing to raise Dean from the ground buckled, and he landed hard and dazed. The look in Sam's eyes was paralysing. That mixture of fear, guilt and defiance that only his brother could manage, and always pulled off so well. But if possible, what froze Dean's blood even more than those eyes was the knife at his little brother's throat, angled in such a way that it gleamed in the moonlight, making sure Dean was aware just how sharp it was.

The figure smiled down at him, but it was more of a sneer, a condescending acknowledgement of Dean's presence, and Dean knew without question that it wouldn't hesitate to make good on its threat. That it was going to do it anyway, whether Dean moved or not, but Dean no longer possessed anywhere near the energy left to stand. With a brutal tug Sam was dragged away from him, and at his startled grunt of pain Dean instinctively lifted one arm to reach for him, but he was slipping far too far away. His captor's movements were sever and jostling and his brother so small and weak, and as Sam pulled against it Dean couldn't help but imagine the arm encircling his middle could snap him clean in too if it would just apply the right force and pressure.

"God… Dean!" Sam had to make him listen, he had to break through, but the figure was dragging him further and further away. Sam couldn't tear his terrified eyes away from where his brother had landed; forced down against the very thing he had insisted they return to entrap their prey. And before Sam's eyes the tendrils of black smoke were rising, pushing themselves closer and closer to where his brother waited, too lost to provide any defence against them.

Sam's body was shook by the laughter behind him. "He's mine now."

It was whispered seductively into his ear, and as the black haze rose to engulf his brother Sam knew that he had to act now, and that the consequences didn't matter, because they would be the same either way.

The knife had been lowered slightly as the figure leant in to breathe its words into Sam's ear. Taking advantage of the slight chance he had been given, Sam flung his head back, connecting sharply with the chin of the person holding him, using that brief instant of surprise to wrench his arms free and twist himself away. His only clear thought was to reach his brother, to get him away from the smoke he was even now beginning to inhale.

But Sam's movements were slower and more cumbersome that he was used to, and his opponent was unnaturally fast. Even as Sam pulled away it brought the knife slashing downwards in a glittering arch, sweeping Sam across the side before he could stagger away out of his capture's reach.

Dean's eyes were glued to the knife as it moved. He could hear with a sickening clarity the knife as it penetrated his brother's side. Could distinguish clearly between the ripping of the thick fabric of his jacket, the cotton of his t-shirt, the smooth slide through his brother's flesh, and Sam's sharp cry seemed to ricochet through the alley for days.

The knife continues its course towards him, moving with such force it flicked tiny particles of red in Dean's direction, his eyes followed them as they came to rest on the concrete, tiny pearl drops of Sam's blood littering the ground between them like a twisted bridge. But it would not have supported Dean's weight, even if he could have moved to follow.

Sam's face was a picture of blank shock. He seemed to stare in confusion at the blood pooling beneath his fingers, before his eyes were raised again to capture his brother's.

"Dean… No, don't…" his tone was frantic, and Dean knew there was something behind the words that he was supposed to pick up on, but he wasn't given the chance. Sam had only taken one step towards Dean's prone form, had only managed to get out three brief words, before he was flung backwards by an invisible force, striking the alley wall behind him with such force that despite all his best intentions he couldn't help the scream of pain that left him on impact.

It was his little brother's body hitting the wall that was the last conscious thing that Dean saw. The sound of his broken form slumping to the floor the last thing his ears made out. There was no groan of life, no struggling of movement, just Sam's dead stillness before the darkness claimed his senses.

Sam watched from his position on the alley floor, struggling desperately to rise, as the dark figure completed the journey he had been trying to make to his brother's side. The smoke had gone now. Sam knew it hadn't dissipated, but that his brother had absorbed it all.

When the figure reached down to touch Dean, Sam redoubled his efforts to move but his head was still spinning and his every muscle burned, and they simple refused to obey his commands.

"No…" he sobbed, not caring that the enemy saw his weakness, because it was the only thing he had left. The only tool he could use to get it to stop. But the man made no effort to hurt Dean further. He merely scooped up the fabric from the ground under Dean's knee, and Sam could see certain of the symbols were now glowing slightly in the moonlight. He couldn't read them from here, but he knew they must be the emotions that Dean was currently feeling, and as they were written on that cloth, they weren't good.

"It's reversible," Sam whispered, more to reassure himself than to threaten their attacker.

"Not without this it isn't," he grinned in reply, holding up the device that was beginning to store Dean's deepest fears and neuroses.

With a final look of amusement at the scene before him the figure moved away into the concealing darkness.

"No!" Sam was scrabbling forwards on his knees, still fighting to stand. Even if he managed to reach the figure he could have done nothing to get his brother's soul away from him, but he didn't care. He had to try. With a sudden burst of inspiration he whipped the gun from his waistband and held it out before him, arm shaking wildly under its meagre weight, but by the time he had extended his arm he could no longer tell where he needed to aim it. He squinted into the darkness. He forced his body to rise, to move, to stagger to the end of the alley. He heard no footsteps, no car, no anything at all, but the man, and his brother's hope, was gone.

Sam tried to follow but whoever had been in the alley with them had left no trace where they had gone, and even if they had, it would have meant leaving Dean unconscious and exposed on the alley floor. And to make Sam's night complete, it was starting to rain.

Ignoring the aches in his body and the steady rising of his own panic, Sam threw himself back down at his brother's side, fingers frantically searching every exposed inch for injury, checking first his pulse then his breathing, relieved to find both as constant and reassuring as ever.

"Dean." He was too frantic to be gentle, but when he had been caught in the things grasp it had been Dean's voice and touch that had brought him around. "Dean, please. You have to wake up now. I need you to wake up. We have to get you back to the motel." There was no way Sam was going to be able to move Dean without his assistance.

To Sam's disbelief, but immense joy, Dean responded to the constant calling of his name. "Oh thank you," Sam whispered to whatever force had deemed to allow Dean to stir, but which hadn't decided it needed to stop the rain from falling. In fact, the rain was picking up its pace. If it was a trade off though Sam would rather have a conscious Dean in a rain storm than soul sucked but dry.

"Sam…?" he had never heard Dean's voice so broken.

"I'm here. I'm right here. Just open your eyes, then you'll see me," Sam coaxed, and after what seemed and eternity Dean obeyed.

Dean's vision was swimming but he could clearly make out the form of his little brother bending over him, face pale and tired, drawn in pain. His hair was flattened to his head by the rain, and even as he smiled to welcome Dean back the older brother could see his body shake in the cold, could hear his teeth chattering.

"Sam?" He had thought Sam was dead. This made no sense. He had seen the knife, had seen the blood, seen him fall, and even as he thought this Dean let his gaze drop to his brother's side. He made a strangled murmur in his throat at the sight of the torn and bloodstained jacket. It was then that he noticed the hands that Sam was trying to pull him upright with were also stained with blood. He was transferring it to Dean's own shirt as he pressed his hands against it, fisting the material for traction, letting his hand hover over Dean's heart.

Sam watched Dean looking at his hand and cringed.

"Yeah. Might have to buy you another shirt. Again. Sorry." He tried to joke, to keep smiling, but the fear on Dean's face as he took in his brother's blood made the smile falter.

"No. No, Dean, stay with me. It's not that bad. It's superficial I promise, but you have to stay with me." Sam cursed his own stupidity. He'd been so desperate to check his brother, to see if he was alive and movable, that he hadn't stopped to check his own injury. He knew the wound had not been deep; it had just taken him by surprise. And while it hurt like hell it had already stopped bleeding. He just hadn't stopped to think how the sight of it would have affected his emotionally fragile brother, which was so astronomically stupid that Sam had to fight back the sob of frustration. That would not help matters now.

"I'm okay Dean. I'm okay; we just need to get back to the car. Please. Help me get back to the car." He didn't know if appealing to the big brother in Dean was a good move or not but he was out of options and could think of nothing else to do. If he couldn't convince Dean that he needed to move for his own sake, he knew from experience that Dean would move heaven and earth it he could to get Sam to safety.

Dean's eyes were no clearer, and Sam knew with certainty then that Dean was no longer in the alley with him, no longer listening to his words or responding to his touch. He had lost him. He risked losing him for good. Dean was in a different alley now, and Sam was still screaming his name, was still bleeding, but the scene was so infinitely different.

Sam looked away, scanning the darkness for something, anything that could help him get through to his bother, force him back into the present, so Dean's movement took him completely by surprise.

Blood. There was too much blood. He had to stop it, had to stop Sam from moving. Why was he insisting on moving? Dean didn't remember him moving, but that didn't matter. What did matter was that when he raised his numb arms to apply as much pressure as his body could manage to the gaping wound in his brother's side, Sam let out a yelp of pain and dived away from him, falling hard onto the concrete beside him, out of reach.

Dean was so heavy, so tired, and he couldn't reach his brother. Sammy was going to bleed to death and he couldn't reach him. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't save him. He knew he had to get up and get moving, knew his immobility would be his brother's death sentence, but Dean was powerless to stop the darkness from claiming him.

_Dean woke up face down on the hard, cold floor. Man, his head hurt. Why did his head hurt? He couldn't seem to get his mind working, to figure out why he was waking up aching and on the floor in the dark. They had to have been on a hunt. That was the only logical explanation._

"_Sam?" he called out, slightly alarmed that there was no answer._

_He put his hands flat at his sides to push himself up from the ground. They landed in something wet, which was confusing. It wasn't raining, and Dean's right side wasn't wet, only his left._

_As he raised his head he could smell the dull copper on the air, and even in the moonlight he could tell that it was not water that coated his left hand. It was blood. He had woken up in a pool of blood. No wonder his whole body ached._

_But wait. That wasn't right. If he had a wound that was bleeding this badly, surely he'd be able to pick out its specific location through the general ach of bruises. Surely he'd remember what had happened._

_What did he remember?_

_The alley. The gun knocked from his hand. Hitting the wall. Hitting his head. Hard. Well, that explained the pain, and the fog in his brain. And Sam. Sam screaming in the haze. A gunshot. Two. And then blissful silence._

_Gunfire. That could explain the blood. Only their father's journal had said the creature would dissipate once it had been killed, which meant….._

"_SAM!"_

"Shit".

Sam pushed his own pain aside as his brother's scream pierced the alley.

"Hey, I'm here. Dean, I'm here there's no need to yell, man." But all the comforting words and gentle touches in the world would do nothing. Why was his brother so much harder to comfort? Was he that much more emotionally complex?

No… Sam hadn't inhaled the smoke. Hadn't ever fully set the device in motion. Dean was linked to it now, and it would continue to drain him until Sam broke that link. There had definitely been a way to reverse the effect. There had to be a way to get the life force back out again, otherwise the cloth would be useless, and the figure had all but confirmed that if he could do so in time he could save his brother.

There had been numbers, some kind of timescale in the runes towards the bottom, along with the words 'reversal', 'danger' and 'blood'. Not the most comforting of combinations, but if there was a way, then Sam would make it work.

He needed to get the cloth back. He needed to get his hands on that translation, and he needed to get Dean off the floor and out of the rain. That meant going back to the motel, which was almost an hour away.

"Dammit." He kicked fiercely, taking his frustration out on a nearby dumpster, painfully aware of two things at once. One, that his foot now hurt along with everything else, and two, that he was glad he had been pacing the ally because he had simple lashed out at the nearest thing, and if he had been standing still there was every possibility he would have just kicked Dean in the head. Not highly helpful. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't believe his own stupidity. It was his fault the motel was so far away. If he hadn't picked up that stupid dog, he would never have got them kicked out of the last place. He could have got Dean to shelter quicker, and been close at hand to track down his cure.

He had been so desperate to prove that he could still be useful. That Dean didn't have to put his life, his everything, on hold for him. It couldn't have been more obvious now that he really did. That if Sam hadn't been so stubborn, hadn't pushed and pushed then Dean wouldn't have been so worried. Wouldn't have been so close to his emotional edge. So easy to push beyond his limits. Hell, they wouldn't even have been here. They would have been sat on a beach in the sun enjoying a month of 'normal' like Sam had always insisted that he wanted.

And even now he wasn't helping. He was on a timescale; he really couldn't afford to lose time lamenting the bad choices he had already made. It was time to makes some more.

Okay. Choice one. Get Dean to the car or the car to Dean? One would be easier physically, but near impossible emotionally, but if he refused to abandon Dean in the alley while he went to fetch the car himself, that meant carrying him, and he really wasn't sure that was even an option.

"Only one way to find out," he muttered, taking a gentle hold of his brother and levering him up into a more manoeuvrable position. Sam was hopeful that once he had accomplished the initial task of getting Dean off the ground and supporting him in a fireman's life, the actual task of carrying him the distance would not be so bad. But there was a reason Dean refused to even let him carry a duffle in from the car.

Dean was going to be so mad.

"Sorry bro," he muttered, and grabbing him under the armpits used every ounce of strength to heave him upwards. "Oh. My. God." Sam grunted, "What must you weigh?" A darn sight less than he did two months ago, Sam was sure of that, but still… failing was not an option however, and nor was giving his brother any indication of how distressing Sam was finding the situation he was in. If Sam couldn't even move his brother to safety, there was no way he had any right to have been here in the first place. Either of them.

Sam bit down so hard on his lip he almost choked on the blood in his mouth, and it was hard to see through the tears that swam in front of his eyes, but he would not, could not, acknowledge the pain out loud. And he would not give in.

He sighed with relief when he finally managed to prop Dean upright, and the brief second of relaxation that allowed him almost sent him crashing to the ground under his brother's weight. Now was not the time to rest. There was no time.

"Okay…" with a grunt of effort he manoeuvred Dean's limp form, for once cursing the fact he was the taller of the brothers, because he would have to bend down to allow Dean to fall into position across his shoulder, and there was every possibility that he would not be able to straighten back up again.

"Here we go."

He hoped that wherever Dean was he was faring better. By the time Sam was taking his first steps towards the safety of the car, his legs were already wobbling like he had run a marathon, and his knees threatened to buckle. Sweat was coating his body, which with the rain only made his grasp on his brother more tenuous, but despite the exertion he couldn't seem to shake the bone chilling cold that had set in the moment he had seen his brother fall.

Taking a slight detour Sam made his way slowly and painfully to the edge of the ally, leaning one hand heavily against the wall in an effort to redistribute some of his brother's weight, and provide the additional support he needed to remain upright. Quite what he was going to do when he made it to the end of the alley and lost his prop he didn't know, but at his current pace he was going to have a long while to think about it. But at least they were moving.

One. Slow. Painful. Step. At. A. time.

"_Sam!"_

_Dean heaved himself upright so fast it made his head spin, instantly flooring him. Landing facedown in a pool of his little brother's blood did nothing to quell his nausea, but he did his best to push it back. Once he started, he would never stop, and he needed to get to Sam._

_His brother was curled in a foetal position a few feet further down the alley, and Dean didn't even want to think about how much blood he must have lost if it had made it all the way down here. Not trusting himself to stand, Dean dragged himself along the blood slick ground to his brother's side._

_Sam's face was ghostly pale in the moonlight, a stark contrast to the blood surrounding him, and was lined with a sheen of sweat. One arm was flung haphazardly at his side, still gripping tightly to his gun. The other curled protectively across his abdomen._

_When Dean gently pulled Sam's hand aside to see why, he finally lost his battle with his nausea, rolling to the side and vomiting so long and hard that his chest ached. But it was nothing compared to the pain of his brother's_

_The picture show in his mind flashed back to the creature they had been tracking. To the four, eight inch long razor sharp claws that lived at the end of either arm. From the looks of it all four of those claws had taken a swipe at his brother's abdomen, shredding it so badly that for a moment Dean wasn't even sure what he was looking at. No wonder he had heard his brother scream. But that had been before the gunshots. Dean's recollection of events was hazy at best, but he was sure of that. How could Sam possible have considered tracking and shooting the creature at the same time as trying to stop his internal organs from sliding out?_

"_Oh God Sammy." There was too much blood. There was far too much blood, and Sam was far too pale, and it was perhaps only the fog of Dean's own probable concussion that prevented him form having a complete meltdown, because even though the logical part of his brain was sure there was no way that Sam could look like that and possible still be alive, he was numb to the shock of it. He just simply didn't understand it._

_His hand hovered over his little brother's shoulders, wanting to move him into a better position, to touch his face, to apply some kind of pressure to the wound. To do something. But he was absolutely terrified that if he so much as breathed on Sam he would cause him pain._

_It was then Sam did something he'd not expected. He slightly lifted one eyelid, focusing on Dean with a watery pain dulled eye as though silently asking him why he was not doing any of the things he had been considering. The eye slipped closed and Sam took in a wet rasping breath which ended in a sob of hurt, and then a hacking cough which sprayed an alarming amount of blood onto the front of Deans already red, white t-shirt._

_And that got him moving._

_With a gasping sob of his own Dean grabbed for the bag that had luckily fallen at his brother's side. His hands were shaking so badly he wasted precious time trying to open it, but he needed something to apply to at least try to stop the bleeding. He knew for a fact there were an extra couple of shirts in the bag, because he'd already bitched at Sam as to what they were doing stashed among the weapons. He knew the geek had had his reasons, but for the life of him Dean couldn't focus on what that was right now. Mopping up his own haemorrhaging stomach was probably not what he'd had in mind._

_He hesitated for only a moment, knowing what was coming, but he really didn't have a choice. _

_Sam's scream as he pressed the fabric to the wounds both appalled and perversely comforted Dean. He hadn't expected Sam to possess either the strength or awareness to make that much noise._

"_I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry," he garbled, along with any other word of comfort, or curse, he could think of, hating the almost detached way Sam seemed to be watching him fall apart._

_It was only after he had bellowed out his first scream for help – there was no one to hear him, that's why they had chosen this spot – that Dean remembered the cell in his pocket, fumbling it so badly in his bloody hands that he dropped it, and for one terrible, heart stopping moment he though it had broken, but the buttons were merely sticky with blood._

"_Okay, help's coming, you just have to hold on a couple more minutes, okay. No. No, Sam, stay with me. Stay awake."_

_He patted gently at his brother's cheeks, then harder. "Dammit Sam, open your eyes," bizarrely regretting the red hand prints he left in his wake. The sight of the blood on Sam's pale features was somehow more disturbing than anything else, and he couldn't help but absurdly lament that he had got it in his hair. That was going to be a bitch to wash out._

"_Sam, you with me." The faintest of nods, the tiniest gurgle of affirmation, and Dean didn't know if it was the sweetest or most tragic thing that he had ever heard. But Sam didn't open his eyes, and suddenly Dean wasn't sure if he wanted him to. That he could live if he saw the pain in them. Saw the light he loved in them fade._

"_D…n" the effort of talking only set him off coughing again, and Dean cringed with him as the movement shook the body he held beneath him. But Sam was never one to be easily deterred._

"_Shhh. No. No. No. There's nothing to say. I'm here. And you're gonna be just fine." He knew the words that were coming. He would hear them filling every silence for the rest of his life, and there was no way he was going to let Sam waste what energy he had on trying to say them._

"_I know…. Shhh, I know," he sobbed._

_Sam wrinkled his brow in confusion and pain and Dean smoothed the lines away with his thumb, wishing he could take the rest of his ills away as easily, that he could absorb them into himself and leave his little brother whole._

"_Right back at you," he whispered, but he instantly regretted his brief moment of sentimentality. As though those were the words, the permission that he had been waiting for, Dean felt the hand that had been gently grasping his own loosen and Sam's body fell limp beneath him._

"_Sam?"_

_The silence that greeted him was the loudest thing Dean had ever heard, and conveyed more than he could process. The sickening rasps for breath had subsided. His brother was emitting not so much as a whimper, and Dean couldn't be sure if it was his own inhuman scream, or the sound or sirens, that first broke the silence._

Sam had no idea how long they'd been moving. He'd tuned out everything but the rhythm of his walking, synchronising it in time with his breathing and heartbeat so he only had one tune to concentrate on. It had taken discipline their father would have been proud of but he had managed to push the distraction of his own discomfort aside, and had even become able to ignore the sound of his brother's muffled sobs, the heartbreaking whisper of his name.

He knew where Dean was; he had no clear recollection of the event himself, and he wasn't sure he wanted them. He was glad Dean's words were muffled. He knew his brother had already said them once, and that they had been aimed at him, but he couldn't remember hearing them. He had never really known what the scene in that alley had done to his brother at the time, and he knew Dean would not want him to witness it now. He felt as though he was trespassing where he didn't belong, witnessing the grief that Dean had done his best to keep hidden from him.

Sam had just manoeuvred himself around the last corner – the Impala was almost in sight in the distance – when Dean let out an ear-splitting wail, so loud and so haunting that Sam immediately dropped him.

"Sorry," he cried, knowing that Dean couldn't hear him. He dropped to Dean's side but no matter what he tried in order to calm him, the screaming continued. They were bordering on civilization here. The last thing Sam needed was for Dean to be overheard and for him to be arrested for attempted murder. Although if they took Dean to a hospital he'd be relatively safe… and Sam wouldn't have to carry him anymore…

"Okay, we're nearly at the car. Just a little further," he cajoled, more to get himself moving again. No way was he going to the effort of re-lifting Dean's weight.

"Sorry bro… It's dragging time," he muttered, grabbing his brother by one ankle and proceeding to drag him backwards towards the car. "Not exactly the most dignified retreat, but the easiest… Oh, you're gonna feel that in the morning." Sam winced, not noticing the broken glass he had just dragged his brother over until it was too late. "Oh well, that's what the layer of leather's for, surely. And we're gonna be buying you another one of those." He smiled despite himself. How had their father managed it? Sam had lived in Dean's hand me downs when he was younger, and whatever they'd had growing up they'd pretty much worn until it had fallen apart. Left to their own devices they seemed to need a new wardrobe every other week.

Looking over his shoulder Sam could see the welcoming gleam of the Impala looming only a hundred feet away.

"Nearly there." Sam was just congratulating himself on having been able to get his brother all the way to the car without hitting any major obstacles when the foot he was holding lashed out violently, kicking him in the chest and sending him crashing backwards.

His head connected hard with the pavement and he lay still, momentarily stunned, but even as the dizziness passed exhaustion kept him on his back. He simple couldn't bear to move.

He could hear Dean continuing to thrash on the ground beside him, fighting off an invisible foe, and for the life of him Sam couldn't make out what Dean was experiencing. Taking a deep steadying breath he brought his hands to his face, covering it from the world momentarily, trying to iron away every sign of fatigue. He hated himself for lying here when Dean was in such obvious distress, but he hated more the fact that there was nothing he could do to bring him out of it, even if he did make the effort to move.

"No… Sam…" He didn't think there could be so much anguish in his name, but Dean achieved it. It also acted as a bucket of smelling salts, getting Sam rolling onto his knees and quickly spanning the distance between them.

The thrashing continues, and Sam did his best to keep his brother still, to prevent him from injuring himself on the cold ground, not caring that Dean was raining blows on his head and shoulders as he lent over him, hugging his older brother to his chest, arms pinned at his sides. Dean continued to scream his name, and there was nothing Sam could do but rock him gently, "I'm here" whispered into his hair like a prayer, over and over until long after the thrashing and yelling had ceased.

He tried to hear Dean's threats in his head, what his brother's reaction would be to the fact Sam was sat on the floor in the rain shivering violently with cold, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping the world in focus, rocking not so much to provide Dean with comfort, but because the action stopped his mind from leaking out of his ears. Sam didn't even notice that he was crying, couldn't distinguish his tears from the rain, but Dean would have seen, would have known that Sam's tears could have drowned them both.

Dean had fallen alarmingly limp in his arms. Any fleeting fantasy Sam might have entertained about using this brief moment of calm to try and wake him was instantly dismissed. Dean was long past the point where he could be roused. The only way of waking him now would be to hunt down and return what had been taken from him.

Dean's body was a dead weight in his arms, pressing heavily against Sam's knees and chest where he held him, and it was the strain of continuing to hold him that caused Sam to finally let go. Had he been at full strength it was likely he would have stayed there until that strength began to fade.

He looked around himself, briefly dazed, before it occurred to him what he had been trying to do.

He moved Dean the rest of the way to the car in silence, unable to bear wasting the words he wanted Dean to hear. The apology. The guilt of being Dean's worst moment. The most painful thing in his life. It wasn't egocentric to think so. Even if his brother hadn't been screaming his name Sam would probably have guessed. He had seen it in the way his brother clung to him. Hovered as though his own life depended on it. He had brushed it off, put it down to Dean's natural big brother sensibilities, when in truth he knew it was something more. He had always known it. The moment he had opened his eyes in that hospital room he had seen it. Known that while he might have been the one lying in the bed fixed to more wires than he wanted to contemplate, he wasn't the one they needed to worry about.

He had broken his brother. It was right there in the slump of his shoulders, the desperate need on his face, and try as he might Sam could find no way to fix him. Every time he had tried he had somehow only succeeded in making things worse.

The only thing they hadn't done was talk about it, but that was too easy. Fighting demons might have been their life but they didn't confront their own fears.

Dean didn't even stir as Sam groped him in search of the car keys and he was heaved into the front passenger seat. It would have been easier to fling him in the back, but it was too long a journey and Sam needed to know his brother was within reach. He understood now, and he didn't know if he would be able to swat Dean's concerned hands away quite so lightly in the future. He knew now that Dean's actions had not been about him. It was nothing to do with Sam's perceived weakness that had his brother checking for his pulse in the middle of the night. The need was Dean's. And it was the same one that had just caused him to carry Dean's prone form the whole distance to the car when it would have been easier for both of them if he'd left to fetch it. He was going to have to leave Dean anyway when they got to their destination, but Sam was determined to hang on as long as he legitimately could.

Sam felt oddly better as soon as the car started to rumble, and he smiled over at his brother. "There. I'm driving your car. If you don't wake up she's mine now, and you know how many times I've spilt coffee on her already, and that was while you were watching. And you must know I've never waxed a car before in my life, right?"

He turned the heating up high, trying to stop his hands shaking on the wheel, but he knew it wasn't just from the cold. Well, he would deal with the symptoms he could deal with. They had been moving along the deserted road as fast as Sam dared for almost five minutes when he realised what was missing.

"Not a word," he grumbled as he lent over and flicked on the car stereo, actually flinching at the decibel Dean had left Metallica playing at. It was a good thing they would be driving through the middle of nowhere, or they'd be arrested for noise pollution next. But Dean had said it soothed him, and Sam would take whatever attempt at comfort he could give.

Perhaps he should ring Bobby now, save time. But the music was so loud and he was driving like a maniac, and his shaking hands were barely in control with them both on the wheel. Slow down and call or get Dean to the motel as fast as humanly possible? Or psychic freakily possible anyway. What was the point in having these powers if he couldn't use them to smite down his enemies? Not that he wanted to use them, or even acknowledge them ever again if he could help it, but still. Saving Dean was perhaps the only thing he would welcome them developing for. It had been to save Dean that his first bout of telekinesis had manifested itself. "If you're ever gonna give me the power of teleportation, or long distance telepathy, now would be the time," he half joked, glad that Dean was not awake to hear his admission.

Secretly afraid that something might have heard his plea and be deciding even now what tricks they could give him to mess up his life even further, Sam pressed down harder on the accelerator. Moving target and all that.

Sam actually drove straight passed their motel and had to perform a dramatic tire screaming u-turn, the noise of which he was sure would either rouse Dean in a fury or have him rethinking the whole 'worst memory' thing. He knew he had been driving fast, but they had made it back in 40 agonising minutes, and he hadn't expected them to be there just yet.

He slammed on the brakes and came to a juddering halt right outside their motel door, glad he had thought to strap his brother in but not liking the way his dramatic manoeuvring had just tossed him around like a doll. "Like you need any more bruises," he said sadly, easing Dean gently back into a sitting position before tearing out of the car.

In almost one fluid movement Sam opened the motel door, flew in to gab a bag from by the table, flicked on the laptop as he passed, and was back again at the door, propping it open with the bag so he could more easily get Dean inside.

More easily. He wasn't exactly sure how it could have been less easy.

His over conscious sense of responsibility and paranoia wasted several seconds running back out to close and lock the car after he had dumped his brother on the nearest bed. With the key in the ignition and the doors wide open he was asking for trouble, even if there didn't seem to be anyone besides them in this whole town. If he got Dean's car stolen he would be saving him only to let him commit fratricide - although without the car Sam's chances of saving him at all would plummet.

Moving back into the motel he slammed the door behind him and lent against it, breathing hard. Throughout his frantic car ride he had attributed this room with magical calming properties. Everything would be clearer and easier if he could just get them back here. A safe haven that would give him time to think. Despite that conviction, Sam was surprised by the calm that seemed to have descended. He could almost fool himself that Dean was merely asleep, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't afford to lose himself in delusion.

There was so much to do, but his mind was surprisingly clear and his movements deliberate, and he seemed to be able at last to prioritise now he was out of the dark and rain and his brother was no longer screaming.

The laptop beeped in the background to announce it was warmed up and ready, but Sam's focus was on his brother for now. On removing his boots, the awkward and time consuming process of dragging him out of his wet clothes and levering him warm and dry under the covers, tucking him in with a gentleness he had never had to exhibit before. This was Dean's job, the thing he'd always done for Sam, got his little brother ready for bed and tucked him in while their father planned and researched, pacing the room next to theirs.

Sam smiled warmly at the memory, at how safe it had always made him feel, even when he knew what their father would soon be leaving to go after. If Dean could tuck him in, smooth down the covers and give him that reassuring pat goodnight, then there was no need to worry about anything. It saddened Sam to think that he had never once thanked Dean for that. He had taken his big brother's actions for granted, when he knew now that Dean himself had probable been going out of his tiny young mind with worry he should never have had to face. When he knew now that the simple every day tasks that Dean had performed to take care of his brother – making his breakfast, attempting to mend whatever few toys they'd had when they were broken, bandaging scrapes and tucking him into bed – weren't the tasks performed by every big brother in the world.

He'd thought nothing of it at the time, but now Sam couldn't help but wonder if, after their mother had died, anyone had done that for Dean. Had their father gone through the same ritual with Dean that Dean performed with Sam? He wanted to believe he had, in those early years at least, before the hunt had consumed him. He wanted to know. It wasn't a slight on his father but a part of his brother's life that he wanted to share, but Sam knew that if he'd ever asked, Dean wouldn't have told. Would have taken it as yet another, more inventive, criticism of their father and their upbringing. And now their Dad was dead it didn't seem right to pry. To have Dean share whatever memories he might have held onto and cherished all these years, or to regret deficiencies their father was no longer able to make up for.

He let his hand hover over Dean's forehead, alarmed by the moisture that was collecting there, by the slight heat that was beginning to make itself known. The rise and fall of Dean's chest was still as solid as ever, but louder somehow, and his heart rate was beginning to pick up. He pulled away from Sam's touch, moaning slightly, and Sam couldn't help but feel hurt, even though he knew Dean was not aware of the action. Whatever was happening to Dean it was starting to manifest itself physically now as well as emotionally, reminding Sam that as much as he might want to linger here with his memories, it was time to haul his aching body off his brother's bed and get moving again.

Ash or Bobby, Ash or Bobby? He needed both, did the order matter? But even as he was trying to decide he was wasting no time, setting out all the material they had gathered and taking pictures of everything with their digital camera, grateful that this backwater motel had internet connection.

Ash was a long time answering his phone, and Sam felt some of the calm that had descended beginning to lift. He knew it was late, and he realised now that Dean had never actually called him back like he'd promised. He hit the voicemail twice and dialled again, leaving an abusive message the second time about people who never answered their goddamn phones, which he instantly regretted, but he was getting desperate now. He was just about to hang up and try Bobby when there was a click and a sleepy voice came over the line.

"'lo?" Ash was obviously trying to force some alertness into his voice, aware that if someone was ringing him at 3am it was probably not for anything good.

"Hey, yeah, Ash. It's Sam." Sam babbled, aware now that he wasn't actually sure what he was trying to achieve by this phone call other than a miracle. "Look, there's no nice way to ask this, and I really don't have the time. I'm sending you all the research we've done, about what Dean was talking to you about earlier. Okay, I'm sending you it now," he muttered, attaching wires and clicking on his email even as he was talking, cringing that he was not letting his friend get a word in edgeways. It was only when Sam fell silent to reach over and plug in the camera to download the pictures that Ash was able to make his presence known.

"Sam?"

Oh God, that was still far too sleepy.

"Yeah!" A little harsher than he'd like, but they were wasting his brother's time.

"You okay? What's going on? Where's Dean? He said he'd give me a call back. You weren't feeling too good, I was worried…" so worried you fell asleep, Sam thought bitterly, but he wasn't being fair. He needed Ash's help if he was going to save his brother. He knew Ash had questions, he knew how annoying it was to have to fall in line without being able to ask them, and he felt bizarrely closer to his father with that realisation than he ever had when the man had been alive.

"Ash," he said loudly, cutting off the other man's sleepy babble of concern. "I'm okay. Look. Dean set this thing off. I have to reverse it and I don't have a whole lotta time. Or any idea how to go about it for that matter. I'm hoping the answer is in the writing itself. If I send you over a copy, do you… do you think you could look it over? Try and figure out a way to get Dean… to get it back out?"

"Of course." Ash was suddenly all business.

"I'd do it myself," Sam suddenly felt the need to explain this, that he wasn't just dumping his problems, "but we lost it. I lost it, Ash. The original. And I have to get it back. I think I have to get it back for this to work, so I can't… obviously if you find out that I don't, feel free to call and correct me," he laughed nervously. The enormity of what he was facing only really starting to hit him now he was sharing his thoughts out loud.

"Sam?" He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly at the worry in Ash's voice, the weight of all it implied.

"I know," he relented quietly. "But I have to try. Just... Call me if you learn anything, okay?" After briefly checking that Ash had received all the material and files that Sam had sent him he hung up. He had thought getting the ball rolling would make him feel better; knowing that Dean had Ash's brain on his side, but instead the conversation had left Sam feeling oddly worse. Like he'd failed before he'd even begun. Ash had meant nothing by it, and would never admit to it out loud, but it hurt Sam to realise he had been so worried. And he knew it wasn't because Dean was in trouble. Dean was always in trouble. It was because Ash didn't think Sam could save him.

Well… for once Sam would prove him wrong.

"Bobby, tell me you have good news, man." Unlike Ash, Bobby had answered on the second ring, and hadn't even stopped to acknowledge that it was Sam and not his brother that had called him back. Sam couldn't comprehend how comforting it was not to have to deal with endless questions about his health. Bobby had obviously picked up from his tone, and the late night call, that something was wrong, and he wasn't going to waste any time with small talk. Despite the dire situation, Sam couldn't help but take that as a vote of confidence.

"Depends on what you mean by good. You wanna be in the locality of known dark arts merchants or not?"

"Regrettably, yes."

"Well, you're in a state that's got one. Wilber Kane. They're vastly territorial. No-one would dare pull a stunt like this on Kane's land but Kane himself." Sam was instantly relieved he didn't have a long list of names to check out.

"Where?"

"Well, he kinda likes to travel around a lot. Spreads his wares about and it doesn't pay to hang around in one place too long."

"He's gotta have certain haunts though right," Sam practically pleaded. "His buyers need to know where to contact him."

"Clever boy," Bobby approved. "He's got several." Sam's heart sank.

"I'm gonna need some addresses."

"Sam?"

There it was.

"Like now."

He waited with a cringe for what was to come, but Bobby's voice hadn't lost its confidant tone.

"Got a pen?"

What an absurd question. Why did people always ask that? But even as he thought it Sam realised that he didn't. Or paper.

"Shit." He could hear Bobby chuckling at Sam's frantic shuffling and rummaging, but he didn't mind. "Okay, go for it."

"I've plotted known sightings in the area. I have to warn you, my sources are good but they're still based on rumour and hearsay. You deal with a guy like Kane and you don't advertise it. At least not to people like me. But I gotta say they sound reasonable." Even as Bobby was talking Sam was tearing out to the car to grab the map of the local area he'd bought when they'd first got here, trying to se a connection between the places the deaths had occurred.

Following Bobby's instructions he plotted the three nearest suspected hideouts on the map. All were out of the way or abandoned locations in the middle of nowhere. He eyed the closest one, which was forested, with some trepidation.

"If you only had time to hit one…?" he asked, nervous now.

"And what am I staking on this bet?" Bobby asked, picking up on his tone. He already knew the answer.

"You're not. I am."

"Sam." So stern and so like his father that Sam ached. What he wouldn't give to be able to follow orders right now.

"Dean set it off," he whispered, hearing Bobby's curse as though from a great distance. "Kane… if it was Kane… He took the device with him. I can't reverse it unless I get it back. There's a time limit on this thing, and I don't think…"

"I'd hit the nearest. The cabin." Obviously. "Something like this is best fresh." Sam was glad he was on the phone and the older man couldn't see him flinch at those words. "And if it's reversible, I'm guessing Kane'll want it out of his hands and the transaction complete as soon as possible, just in case."

"You think he already has a buyer lined up? That he could have…"

"I don't know. But I don't think it's a done deal just yet. The nature of this… I think it would be better to wait a little while to make sure it takes. See what it is you're actually getting. Different emotions might mean different buyers. That gives you some leeway. But when it's obvious what Dean's giving off, then he's gonna want to get it off his hands as soon as possible."

"Okay." Deep breaths. Hearing these words from Bobby's mouth was making this far too real. "Kane..? Bobby, he's human, right?"

"For what it's worth."

"It's just, he seemed kinda…"

"You don't spend your time dabbling in that much power without picking a few things up. He's human, but that doesn't mean he won't have a few tricks up his sleeve. Look, Sam…"

"I have to go."

"No… no wait." It was as if he thought Sam was hanging up, but that wasn't what he'd meant. "Where are you? Are you back at the motel? The one Dean called from earlier?"

"Yeah…"

"I'm on my way."

"What! No. Bobby, I can't sit around and wait for you to get here."

"And I'm not asking you to. It's just… in case you need some back up."

Sam couldn't think of anything to say. He knew he wouldn't be able to hide how badly he wanted the other man here if he was to open his mouth.

"Look..." Bobby continued tentatively, and Sam, could tell he was doing his best to keep his own frantic worry in check for Sam's sake. "I'm a long way out. It's gonna take me a long while to get there, and you can't afford to wait. But at least you'll have someone in the area if it turns out you need them. And Sam. You need me, you call. You call anyway."

"Yeah."

"How's Dean doing?"

"I dunno. He's quite now. But he'd getting feverish."

"You gonna be able to leave him?"

"I have to." Voice so small, so young, Bobby hurt. "Come to the motel." That took him by surprise. He'd though he'd have to fight Sam on the offer of help. "Room 6. Unless I call, go straight to the motel. I don't want him to be alone… and …"

"'kay." He knew what Sam was asking, and despite his own trepidation he was honoured that Sam would trust him with the task. "I'd get someone to sit with him, take him to a hospital or something, but he's muttering in his sleep, and… I don't know. Some of the stuff he's saying… they'll lock up both away the second we get there."

"You've got the element of surprise." Sam didn't know who Bobby was trying to comfort and convince, but he appreciated the words all the same. "Kane's an arrogant bastard. Guys like him 're needed in some circles, and the people who know him respect that. It won't occur to him you'll actually be able to track him down. Avoid confronting him unless you have to. Get in, get the artefact, and get out."

He wasn't saying anything Sam didn't already know, and Sam knew it wasn't Bobby's way of implying that he was in way over his head, it was simply the older man's way of masking his own concern. He'd feel better about letting Sam off the phone if he was sure he'd imparted every piece of advice he could. Unfortunately, with about twenty years of experience over Sam, he had a lot of advice to give.

"Look, Bobby," Sam finally felt he had to cut in, "I gotta go. I'll call you soon okay."

"You make sure you do that." Sam knew that despite his tone, Bobby was wondering if he'd be hearing form Sam again.

Comforting.

He shut his phone off with a beep that had never sounded more final, suddenly feeling so desperately alone. Glancing over at Dean he knew that Bobby had been right to worry. He really didn't think he could leave him to go through God knew what pain alone, but if he stayed, it would be to sit and watch Dean die. And it wouldn't be a pleasant death.

"Okay Sam, you can do this."

He got together what supplies he could, stashing them about his person, wanting his hands free and not to be burdened with anything more to carry if he could help it. His arms and shoulders and back and legs had still not forgiven him for the last load. He also left the laptop running, putting some music on repeat so Dean would at least have the semblance of company while he was gone.

"Okay."

He hovered at the edge of Dean's bed, wanting to touch him but not wanting to confuse him, to somehow transmit his own anxiety across to his ailing brother. He wanted to say something, anything, to reassure him, to explain his actions, to apologise for leaving him all alone, but everything he could think of sounded too much like goodbye.

"Please don't leave me… Sam…"

Sam felt something deep within him die. Felt the snap.

So instead, he simply turned and marched from the room before his will failed him.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Restoring the Balance**

**By Floralia**

Wow. Firstly I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who took the time to let me know what they thought of the story so far. For those of you I didn't reply to personally, sorry, I'm lame, your kind words were very much appreciated. So much so they spurred me on to work extra hard so I would have something to post this week. In an all time first for me, I have actually written a semi plan so I kind of know where I'm going now and won't be taken by surprise by my own changing direction again. In other firsts, I also attempted writing in the bath – not as tricky as you might think – and managed to eat pizza without burning the roof of my mouth. Not highly relevant, but an achievement I thought I'd share.

Disclaimer: Same as before. I'm as unofficial as they come.

-0-

_It was one long scream, but it contained twenty three years worth of responsibility and failure, and it seemed to last as long as his brother's life. One scream that was so much like Sam, because it was the only thing Dean had in the world. The only thing he could hear, the only thing he could feel - tearing at his throat, burning his lungs so badly he would never be able to use them again. And when it was over, so was the rest of the world. It simply stopped, smothered in a coat of darkness that was the absence of Sam._

_This morning he had been teasing Sam about his choice of coffee and now his little brother, the life he had sworn to protect, was lying dead in his arms. Dean had always considered himself to be strong, to be unstoppable, but now he was aware only that he was numb, that his body was oh so heavy and his vision was beginning to dim, tunnelling out until all he could see was Sam, locked in the very centre of his gaze. Silent and unmoving._

Watch out for Sammy.

_He hadn't even seen it happen. Hadn't known. Hadn't been there when he'd been needed the most._

Nothing bad is going to happen to you.

_Well he was here now, and he would not let Sam be taken from him. Not like this. His brother would not go out on some filthy backstreet choking on his own blood._

_Trembling hands reached outwards searching desperately for a pulse, but he felt nothing. He could see his hands connecting with his brother's neck, his shoulder, his forehead, fisting the material of his jacket, trying desperately to pull him close, to feel, even if it was to feel the coolness of Sam's skin beneath his own warm sticky hands. But he was completely and utterly numb. _

_Physically at least. He was still aware enough to know how much this hurt. The pain of losing all physical connection even while his brother was right in front of him, so pale he was beginning to blue._

_He was moving as though in slow motion and his hands felt useless, far too big for his body, but he had to do something. What would his father say if he was watching? What about Sam? How would he feel if he knew that Dean had sat idly by and watched him die? Too broken himself to even try to fix him._

_CPR was almost automatic, and it was only later that Dean would be glad that he had ever had to do it before, because if the first time had been for Sam… if he hadn't known… been sure… hadn't seen it work…_

_The sound of his own blood was rushing in his ears, his own pulse mocking and deafening as it beat, beat, beat, and he pounded on his brother's chest, willing to share it, to give Sam that sound if it mean he didn't have to hear it any more. Be reminded of what his brother, the baby he had raised, now lacked._

_The whole world took on a hue of red and blue, flashing in and out of focus in time with the hateful rhythm in his head. Red and blue, the colours that were Sam, and the image was so unnatural, so surreal, that all he could do was grip his brother harder, knowing that he was tiring. Knowing that they would both die here, but a part of Dean was okay with that, as long as he didn't have to move forward alone._

_Shadows hovered just beyond his vision. Voices. Shouts from a different dimension, one he didn't belong to, and while he didn't know what they were saying he knew what they wanted. Sam. They were here for Sam. They were here to take his brother away._

_Well, he would not let them take him. Sam was his responsibility. _His_ life. And as long as he had breath. As long as he had this hateful, stupid, useless heartbeat that insisted on making itself known, then he would still keep his place, right between danger and Sam._

_Their hands were on him. Their grip was gentle but they were moving him away from Sam and no way in hell was he going to go. No way was he going to let them take him._

_They were becoming more insistent now, more forceful, and suddenly Dean realised that he could feel again, because he could feel the strong hand encircling his arm, feel the hard concrete scraping his knees as he was dragged away, feel the huge empty gaping void in his arms where Sam had been stolen from him._

_He was also suddenly aware that he was screaming. Not what he was saying, not that it mattered, just the fierce primal sound that he hadn't been aware he could make. That only Sam would be able to elicit. _

_That only Sam could silence._

_And he was fighting, too. Not when it had really mattered. Not when Sam had really needed him to, before that evil _thing_ had dared to touch him. Dared to snuff out the light of the world. But he was fighting now. Fighting with everything he had._

_But there were too many of them, and the blackness at the edge of his vision was starting to expand, and his strength was starting to fail. Sam had already been out of his arms for so long he didn't think he would ever be warm again. And he was glad that they were overpowering him. Glad that he was being forced down, that his head was pressed against the ground, his cheek absorbing the warmth that had once flowed through his brother's veins. Glad somehow that it would end like this. That he would go out like this. That he would die for his brother even if Sam was no longer aware of the sacrifice._

_And then he went to find his brother in the blackness._

-0-

It took Sam three attempts to start the car, and by the time it finally rumbled to life the relief of it rippled through him like a shock wave, and it was suddenly so very hard to breathe. His vision began to swim and he tried to grip hard on the steering wheel to force the world back into focus, but it was no good. For one brief moment he didn't even know where he was going. What the world was supposed to look like when it didn't shimmer about and dance with spots of white light, and then he was back. Sat in the driver's seat of his brother's car trying hard not to vomit, shaking uncontrollably and drowning in the knowledge that his body was going to rebel. Was not going to let his mind to do what it wanted.

He got the car moving finally but his vision still didn't clear, and he couldn't process any way to look at the map, the road, and remember how to drive all at the same time. He was on another deserted road out of town, but this time he was crawling, unsure where the accelerator even was, or _what_ it was, or what he was holding in his hands. But he must have had some small particle of awareness, because he knew to slam on the brakes before….

He woke up cradling the steering wheel in utter blackness. It was the familiar rumble and smell that told him he must be in the car, so he reached out to turn on the headlights, wondering absently how he had got here without them.

His clothes had never really dried but they were now soaked again, this time with sweat, but while the nausea was still overpowering he could at least see, and his breathing was beginning to calm. A few more steady breaths later and he was able to get the shaking under control. He wished now that he had been strong enough to leave his brother behind in their shelter and run/hobble for the car. It would have saved time, and it might have left him with the strength to continue. The old wound in his stomach throbbed in time with the new, and while the external scar was intact he was suddenly terrified that he had ripped at his internal stitches, because something inside him felt horribly wrong.

But perhaps that was just the thought of what he had left behind him. The knowledge that the only hope his brother had was fighting hard not to shut down.

There were far too many 'what ifs' involved in this plan for Sam's liking. While Bobby might think it was likely, they hadn't even confirmed that it was Kane behind this, and even if it was, he must have a hundred hideouts scattered across the state. The odds that Sam would stumble across him on the first try…

His brother's absence was painfully obvious in the silence so he flicked on the radio, but the depressing strains of country music did nothing to sooth his nerves so, rolling his eyes even at himself, he nudged the tape back in. If Dean couldn't be here in person then he could in spirit, and Sam found it oddly comforting to listen to the music he associated with his brother.

He had got used to driving through the barren stretch of nothingness, but sooner than Sam expected he left this behind him and the trees lining the road continued to increase. The road was deserted and painfully straight so he felt safe shutting off the headlights, needing to feel as though he was at least doing something to remain undetected, but the darkness was momentarily so overwhelming that he couldn't help but wonder if he had passed out again.

Not for the first time did Sam curse that his brother's logic and stealth did not stretch to having a quieter car. Before he reached the turn off to Kane's cabin he decided to ditch the Impala and proceed on foot, turning the car about first so it was facing back in the direction of the motel, just in case he needed a speedier exit. While he hoped to be in and out in no time at all he was also beginning to curse the fact his brother's car was black. Yes, it was the perfect colour for all the night work they did, for all the times they needed to slip by unseen, but Sam was suddenly terrified that if he left the car now, without the aid of daylight he would never find it again. The darkness was that complete.

He tried to think only of ways that could play in his favour.

A figure like Kane would no doubt have numerous security measures to stop just anyone stumbling across his retreat, so the further he travelled without tripping any obvious alarms, the more Sam's unease increased. Was the road unblocked because Kane wasn't there, or had he in fact already set off several warning bells and was moving even now straight into Kane's waiting arms?

Whichever turned out to be the case, he had no choice but to continue on, moving as carefully as he could.

Or, he did have a choice. He could always go back.

Somehow the knowledge of that fact, that he was here of his own free will and had a clear goal in mind, was reassuring. Made him feel a little more in control. Yes, there was every chance he was walking into a trap, but he _wanted_ to know for sure if he was. Because if there was even the tiniest, slimmest possibility that he would make it, then the effort of grasping onto that possibility was worth more than the thousand obstacles against him. He was aware on some levels that he was mentally weighing his own life against Dean's, and it was the fact he valued his brother's more highly that kept him moving, but even though it exasperated and infuriated him every time Dean made the same calculation, his brain was too tired to make anything of it.

Before long Sam found what he assumed must be the dirt road that led to the cabin, and for a brief moment he couldn't help but stop and marvel at how many out in the middle of nowhere log cabins there were in existence, and how many of them seemed to house something nasty. Or be a source of food for something nasty. Enough movies were made about it; you'd have though even the most oblivious of people would have spotted a trend by now. But no. They were still being built. There always seemed to be just one more secluded woodland hideaway to check out.

He ducked into the undergrowth, moving alongside the road out of any obvious line of sight, praying that he wasn't about to disturb a twitchy hunting party with shotguns. The wind was bitter cold, the same cold front that had prompted Dean's whirlwind shopping expedition the week before, and Sam couldn't help but smile at how happy that had made him. Sam had been cold and he no longer had a jacket, and there was a problem that Dean could instantly and effectively fix. With hindsight perhaps Dean's enthusiasm then should have been a huge neon sign pointing out his emotional vulnerability. Dean hated shopping.

Sam shivered violently at a non-existent gust of wind, and it was several seconds before his mind associated the action with the cell vibrating in his jacket pocket. At least he had remembered to put it on silent.

Text message.

If he opened it up here it would light him up like a Christmas tree, but it could be something important. It could be from Ash – he'd asked him to let him know if he learnt anything Sam needed to know before getting in too deep with this venture. Maybe he'd discovered a way of doing this without having to access the original cloth at all. Sam knew this was naive, but enjoyed the brief millisecond of indulgence in that belief. It could even be Dean, wide awake in the motel and texting to ask where the hell he thought he'd wandered off to in the middle of the night

But no. Dean would never text. He'd ring and he'd yell, and the fact that he was doing neither of these things made Sam suddenly very sad, and steeled his resolve to instantly check the phone.

He veered off further into the undergrowth where there was a better chance the merger light the phone gave off would be hidden, and shielding it with his body best he could he flicked it open.

TIMESCALE FOR REVERAL: 6 HOURS – ORIGINAL HOST. 12 HOURS – ANNOINTED VESSLE. 12+ HOURS – QUALITY AND QUANTITY REDUCES.

Wow. That had been quick. Sam remembered the line of symbols this related to, but it hadn't made anything close to sense.

No, he would be grateful to Ash for having worked it out (although not as grateful as he would have been if the time window were longer, or retrieval unnecessary), and push down the mild irritation that he had not been able to figure that out for himself.

So. He had six hours between Dean setting the link in motion and it severing completely. It had taken at least six hours for those people to die. Six hours of being trapped in their own private fears and emotional failures. While Sam was grateful that he had that time to work with, he was also appalled that he was glad the other innocent victims had suffered for so long.

He was also sorry that he would not be able to avenge their deaths. Finish the hunt he had dragged Dean here for in the first place. As much as he wanted to make Kane pay for the suffering he had seen his brother endure, he knew he had to avoid confrontation as far as possible. And if he achieved his aim then Kane would go to ground, and it was unlikely they'd find him again. By the sound of it Bobby's sources had been aware of his activities for quite some time without ever getting close enough to him to put a stop to it. This was perhaps the best chance they were likely to have to shut Kane down for good, and all it would take was for Sam to hold off. To wait for Bobby and additional back up to get here. To wait for someone who was fitter and more able than he. Hundreds of future victims could be spared.

And all it would cost was Dean.

He was less thrilled by the whole 'having a choice' thing now. He would gloss over this part of his escapades when he related them to Dean, once he got his brother back. Dean had been upset enough at the one unknown life that Sam had accidentally traded for his after taking him to the faith healer, and then there was their father. He wasn't sure how Dean would cope with the knowledge that Sam had deliberately sacrificed hundreds. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that himself. Exactly where that placed him on the morality scale.

He could flirt with logic all he wanted – Kane was technically human after all, and there were millions of evil humans in the world that they'd never consider involving themselves in – but in truth he didn't think anyone could have seen the look on Dean's face and not need to reverse it. He defied anyone who could see what Kane had reduced his brother to and not want to, if not kill him, at least rip several limbs off. It would be much harder to produce more wares minus a few limbs. God knew that was the urge Sam was fighting against right now, and it was perhaps a good thing that he was so painfully aware of his own limitations, because he didn't doubt that was the only thing stopping him from taking the Dean route through fraternal devotion.

And they both knew how well that had worked out.

Guilt and worry and the determination to avoid emotional display. Man, his family was screwy.

He was prowling through a possibly mystically booby trapped forest towards a definitely mystically secured hide out, and a large part of the motivation for that move came from what his guilt over the guilt his guilt over his brother's misplaced guilt surrounding his accident was now putting Dean through.

And his brother had the audacity to tell him he babbled when he was nervous.

Okay, so six hours. Obviously he hadn't been thinking clearly enough to set a stopwatch going the second Dean had absorbed the connection. Sam suddenly had the alarming image of a digital clock face counting away the duration of Dean's torture tagged into the corner of his vision, and an annoying 24 style ticking filled his head. When he had watched the clock enter its second minute he began to seriously worry about his own sanity, and he had to concentrate hard to force the image away.

Six hours.

One had been wasted in the alley, through a combination of his own stupidity at carrying his fully grown older brother just hours after the effort of bending down to pet a puppy had seemed like a feat beyond endurance, and his own minor emotional meltdown. 40 minutes in the car. Perhaps another (with a cringe) 40 minutes back at the motel talking to Ash and Bobby and generally psyching himself up to leave. About another 30 minutes in the car, and 15 on foot, meant Sam had used up at least three of his brother's hours.

He had been without Dean for three hours. And that wasn't taking into consideration the time lost every time he spaced out.

Take out the hour he'd need to get back to Dean he had under two hours. Less than two hours to break and enter, thieve, and carry out whatever ritual was required to transfer Dean's negative emotions back into his body, where they could fester out of sight where they belonged.

Something about that realisation shocked Sam back into sharper awareness, and he hadn't even realised the extent to which his brain had been allowing itself to wander, the fog it was fighting through, until it was removed. Everything took on a sudden clarity. While that meant the pains in his body were more apparent now that the mist his mind had created to conceal them had lifted, his determination and his vision and, he was also surprised to learn, his balance, had also increased.

He knew exactly what he needed to do and why. He knew there was a chance that he would fail, but he also knew that seemingly impossible things happened every day. And that if they got out of this, when they were both at full strength, then they would take Kane down. Even if they never found him they could do enough damage to his operations and reputation to be sure Dean was never left to wonder if Sam had made the right choice in saving him.

If the essence Kane sold had a shelf life of 12 hours, then the deal would be over long before Bobby got here, and as soon as the deal was done, so would Kane be. Even if Sam waited it would do no good. Kane would be gone, and the possibility of achieving any good at all would have passed them by.

No, it was clear that Sam had to act. Unfortunately it was also clear that he was not the only one who did. Kane's prospective buyer was also on a timescale, and introducing a third party into the mix could only complicate matters.

-0-

_Dean opened his eyes to a blinding white light, but he tried to push down his disappointment at this fact because his little brother had always loved clichés. There was perhaps three seconds of strangely detached emotionless bliss, and then he heard it. The loud rhythmic beeping forcing its way out of the sheer white. He knew what that rhythm was. It was the same tune that had mocked him so cruelly the last time his eyes had been open._

_His own heartbeat._

_He blinked through the white, and suddenly it was just the haze of sunlight hitting his eyes, the bright reflection of the sterile cold walls, floor, ceiling. He really was encased in white, but it was not the kind he had wanted._

_There was no foggy wave of confusion. His brain didn't even allow him a mere minute of ignorance on resurfacing. The world shifted back into view with an instant and horrifying clarity. He knew exactly where he was, exactly what had happened. He knew with an immediate and brutal force that Sam was dead._

_Sam had gone, and he had tried to follow, but it turned out he couldn't even do that right._

_There was a bustling movement in the room and a young nurse fussing about him, no doubt alert to the fact he was now awake by the marked change in his heart rate the return to reality had caused. He knew she was talking to him, trying to help, but the unreality of the situation was too overwhelming to let him respond._

_He shifted slightly in the bed trying to sit up and take in his surroundings more fully, but a pain in his head and left arm sent him spinning back into the bed. He glanced over at his shoulder and was vaguely surprised to see bandages protruding from his hospital gown. He genuinely didn't remember having hurt it._

_The nurse scurried away to fetch a doctor, probably thoroughly concerned by his lack of response, and Dean took the moment of solitude to fully let the room sink in._

_It wasn't as light out as he had first thought. While the daylight was streaming in through his window and haloing his pillow, it was muted. The day was already on the decline._

_How long had his little brother been alone?_

_Where had they taken him? Was he here, at the hospital?_

_The though of Sam, pale and cold on some morgue slab somewhere… Abandoned and beyond his reach…._

_It was irrational. He knew that Sam was gone, but he was also sure that Sam would know Dean wasn't with him. Had let him go through the proceedings with strangers. Alone._

_There was movement in the room again. It was a middle aged man this time, smiling through a kind of forced calm. Dean allowed himself to be prodded and poked, to take in the occasional word like 'concussion' and 'bruising' and 'bed rest' and 'lucky'._

_Lucky. It was that last one that caused Dean to let out a brief snort of disbelief, the only sound he had made since waking. Since he'd been talking to Sam. And he'd been right, his throat was beyond sore, but he couldn't imagine that it would matter now. He had no one left in the world to talk to._

_He nodded mutely at the doctor's words, hoping somehow that if he looked to be playing along, looked like he cared about what he was being told, then these people would leave him alone. Would let him suffer in peace. And even as he thought this he was suddenly struck by the overwhelming fear that the doctor actually might leave, because then he really and truly _would_ be alone, and the next, solitary, chapter of his life would begin._

_He couldn't even begin to think what he would do with it. He couldn't even get revenge. Sam's last act had been to steal that comfort from him._

_But if Sam hadn't acted the creature would have got him too, and with a gasp Dean realised his question of the night before had been answered. How Sam could possibly have had a coherent thought to spare on aiming and firing while his life was seeping from him at an alarming rate. _

_He'd done it because he'd known Dean could not._

_Sam's last action had been to save his life, and there was a part in Dean that found the ability to be angry at that, because that was not Sam's place. That was _his _job, _his_ purpose. Sam had to deal with the visions and the guilt and the quiet rumbling uncertainty of fate. All Dean ever had to cope with was making sure he stood between the sweeping claws and Sam. Because that was the only thing he _could_ do. The only comfort he knew how to give. And Sam had felt the need to take that upon himself too, leaving Dean with nothing._

_The doctor hadn't left. He was staring at Dean with unease, barely disguised trepidation, and it was a moment before the ex-older brother realised why. They had finished talking about him. The doctor had said all he needed to say about Dean, but still he seemed to be waiting with increasing nervousness for a question Dean was yet to ask._

_And then it hit him. He was waiting for him to ask about Sam. The doctor was wondering if he should tell Dean about his brother… And while he was desperate to know, hungry for every single detail in a way he would never be for food again, he couldn't bring himself to form the words. He had given his voice to Sam, and he had the absurd notion that he should get Sam's permission first before using it again._

_The wary look in the doctor's eyes spoke the volumes of his failure, and Dean just couldn't bear to ask. He didn't need them to tell him what he had already lived through. Didn't want to hear them talk about Sam as if they'd known him. As if they could have any comprehension what Sam had been in life._

_But on some levels these doctors did know him. Perhaps more fully than Dean would ever have the chance to, because they had shared his most intimate moment. They had been present the instant of his death, had cared for his body after he had vacated it._

_He didn't want the details of how he'd failed, but he needed to know:_

"_Can I see him?"_

_He barely recognised the voice that came out of him, but it was vaguely familiar all the same. It had belonged to his father once. The first thing John Winchester had said to Dean after Sam had slammed the door to his life closed to them had been in that exact same voice. It had taken Dean by almost as much surprise as Sam's leaving, so he'd never actually caught the words themselves. Just the broken way they were delivered._

_Fortunately for Dean the doctor had no such difficulty. He probably had to deal with that tone all the time. Perhaps it was more of a shock to him when his patients' words were clear and whole._

_They did take him by surprise however, stopping him from answering and forcing Dean to repeat them. And before he did so he saw again that image of Sam cold and pale on a table, and he wondered if they would have stitched him up. If it would be obvious by looking at him, the pain and trauma of his death. While he knew the image of seeing his Sammy like that would haunt him for the rest of his natural life, Dean also knew that he didn't have a choice. He had seen what that creature had done. Dean's mental view would never be unscarred again. He needed to see it through for Sam. Needed and owed it to him to be with him at the end. Desperately needed to see for himself if death had wiped away the look of agony, had taken away the heavy burden that had lined his features._

_He was weak now his purpose was gone, and he wanted to reassure himself that his Sammy had found peace._

"_Please." Sam's brother had never begged. "My brother. Can I see him?"_

_A brief flicker of uncertainty. Of trepidation. Of something Dean almost took for relief. Then:_

"_Okay. Soon. But only for a little while. Your blood pressure's still too low. But if the stories of the fight you put up in the alley this morning are true, I doubt you'll let a little thing like that stop you."_

_Was it possible that this man, who seemed all calm smiles and reassuring bedside manner, was making fun of his devotion to his brother? About the fact he had failed?_

"_They should be due to remove him from recovery to the ICU soon, and when he's settled I'll see about getting one of his doctors down here to talk to you. Then, if you're still feeling up to the trip, I'll get someone to take you up there. Okay?_

_A blank look and silence._

"_What?"_

_All the air had gone from the world._

"_I said we'll see about getting you upstairs to see your brother soon. Sir?" The look of hesitant concern was back, but then so was the fog and the confusion. Dean suddenly had absolutely no idea what was going on. Was he a brother again or not? Toying with him like this was just cruel. He defined himself so completely by relation to Sam that he was losing himself amidst the uncertainty._

"_He… he's okay?" No. Dean had seen him. He knew there was no possible way 'okay' could ever be used to describe him again, and he realised the cagey look on the older man's face had never really passed._

_A sigh. He really didn't want to be the one to tell Dean this._

"_He's holding his own. That's really the best we can hope for right now, considering the extent of is injuries."_

"_But he's alive?" God he sounded so small and simple._

"_Yes."_

"_And he's stable?" His voice was returning. Sam was letting him have a little of it back._

_The look of ill disguised panic had returned. The doctor was no doubt recalling exactly what he'd heard about the fight that Dean had put up against the figures that had tried to take his brother from him, and was terrified of giving him any information that he might not like. He didn't need to say anything however. The milliseconds stutter before the professional front fell back into place told Dean all he needed to know._

"_They're monitoring him closely, and he made it through the surgery. He's a fighter."_

_Yes. That was the crux of the problem._

_Dean nodded mutely and his doctor – Dean suddenly realised with a pang of weakness he hated himself for that he hadn't caught the man's name, anything to make this moment less impersonal – became suddenly warm and gentle._

"_Look. I haven't been in charge of your brother's care. But as soon as I can I'll get someone in here that can give you the full picture, okay?"_

_There was that stupid word again. Nothing about this situation was okay. Dean suddenly needed instructions. He wanted to be told what it was alright to feel. Some of the hollow emptiness was gone, and he had a purpose again now, but it was somehow so much heavier a burden than it had been before. He knew more clearly than ever what was at stake, what the cost of failure on his part would be._

_Sam might be alive, but Dean knew his condition was serious._

_And he was still alone._

_Dean hadn't even been going to ask. He'd completely given up on his little brother, who was even now still valiantly trying to hang around and set him on the right course._

_He tried to feel relief at that, but found only guilt and failure. And a paralysing fear. He was no doctor, but he knew what he had seen, and he didn't understand how Sam had lived through it. _If_ he lived through it._

_The pain of losing Sam once had been devastating. To get him back only to have to sit by and lose him again…_

_If possible he had now learnt to fear the void that followed his brother's death almost as much as losing Sam itself._

_-0-_

There was a light in the darkness growing steadily less distant, and by some bizarre reversal it made Sam feel suddenly so very exposed. He had been moving through the darkness with a newfound strength of purpose, stumbling through brambles and colliding into trees with as much stealth as he could manage. But he had been walking blind, and there was some comfort in that. Now the end was in sight, and while he was still in the shadows, it was possible that he was in sight too.

Sam could see nothing but the fact the cabin was close and had at least one light on, but he _knew_ he was in the right place. The air shifted the closer he got to it, tingled as though it carried a slight charge. This was defiantly Kane's base, and by the looks of it, he was home.

He crept as close as he could without breaking the tree line. The old log cabin was set back in its own small clearing, meaning in order to gain entrance he would have to leave his cover behind. For perhaps seven seconds he would be visible to even the most casual of natural glances. For someone like Kane he might as well announce his presence with a megaphone.

The light was on at the front porch, and several of the windows at the front of the house were brightly lit. Sam skirted around to the rear of the property. He wasn't stupid enough to think this was any less well defended, but it was still in near darkness.

Flickering shadows darted in the windows and he ducked back with a silent curse. He had been watching for the time it took for his heartbeat to get over the sudden shock before he realised there were not several figures moving around inside. The back rooms were lit by candle light, and the dancing flames made every inanimate shadow seem alive.

The lights were on at the front for a reason. Kane must still be awaiting his guest. At least that meant the thing Sam was after was most likely still here.

As far as he could see the windows were heavy, their frames warped with damp. He doubted they would lift easily or quietly. He could probably break one, but again that wouldn't be quiet, and the windows held more wooden supports than actual glass. He was sure he'd read somewhere that you could squeeze your body though any gap that had been big enough to get your head through, but now probably wasn't the time to try it. It was possible that was only one of the many Dean 'facts' he'd picked up in life. Like Dean's insistence that it _wasn't _true that you could fit a pool ball in your mouth but couldn't get it out again past your teeth. Dean had been so sure that one was an urban ledged he'd been willing to let Sam have a go just to prove society wrong. Sam almost wished he'd gone along with it just to see it Dean would actually let him do it; but it was a dangerous game of chicken when playing against Dean, and he'd always been the first to back down. Mainly because he was more afraid of his faith in Dean being misplaced than he was in the outcomes of his 'experiments'.

Okay, so the window was out.

That left the door. Rickety and no doubt creaky, but with an old lock that looked almost laughably easy to pick.

He ferreted around in his pockets. Lock picking it was.

He got the tools out ready, practically rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet trying to pick the best moment to move, when he heard the distant rumbling of an engine.

A car was approaching.

A car?

Well that was vaguely disappointing. Okay, so he was with dark illicit contraband being exchanged in secluded woodland clearings in the middle of a storm struck night, but somehow the fact the buyer was arriving by automobile, with the headlights on full beam at that, was strangely disappointing.

Full beam…

He just managed to throw himself back into the cover of a nearby clump of briars as the twisting dirt driveway caused the headlights to sweep over the spot he had been stood in seconds before. The headlights clicked off, and the return to the near darkness was disorientating.

There was the heavy click of a latch, the sound of boots on the solid wooded porch, and distant rumble of voices raised in falsely polite greeting.

They were both at the front of the house. Outside. He was never going to get a better moment than this.

Launching himself from the tree line, Sam again cursed his lack of speed and stamina. The short burst of energy had left him nearly exhausted, and vaguely dizzy again, and his fingers fumbled clumsily with the lock. Soon fear of failure and adrenaline were back in control, and with a click that sounded to Sam like a shotgun blast, the door slid open with the faintest of whines and he slid stealthily inside.

He wanted to immediately drop to the ground where he'd be more concealed and out of a standing figures line of sight, but that was not really an option. Well, he could probably get down there, but moving about and making any kind of a quick rise and get away would be out of the question, so he settled instead for pressing himself against the shadows of the wall.

There was no exclamation of surprise or burst of noise from the front of the house, just the continuing steady rumble of pleasantries, and Sam's disgust at the transaction rose even further when a few of the words drifted in the open window at the front of the cabin.

The car! They were discussing the car! It was like he had stumbled into some evil warped Deanland.

The few seconds he'd been moving between the cover of the trees and the eaves of the cabin had left him not only exposed to view, but also the elements. The rain was still falling ridiculously fast and he prayed that it would continue, because the noise of the wind rushing through the creaking wooden structure, and the driving force of the rain, were doing a lot to mask the sound of his own ragged breathing and shivering limbs. He was also painfully aware of how loud the water dripping off his soaked hair and jacket sleeves seemed to be as it hit the hardwood floor, but his grip on logic remained intact enough to know he was the only one who could hear it.

Hear it, yes. See it, no. Wet muddy footprints and a dripping trail of water, almost like a blood trail, would lead Kane right to him. If he saw them.

If Sam snuffed out some of the candles, would Kane think it was the wind, or would he instantly become suspicious? One or two couldn't hurt. They were sparingly placed as it was, so Sam felt slightly better after extinguishing the source of light nearest the door, where his entrance and period of wet musing would be the most apparent.

Now. If I was an evil sole sucking artefact, where would I be?

There really was only one answer to that question. Where were these things always kept in places like this.

The basement.

Okay, if I was a door leading to the basement where would I be?

Tentatively he crept forwards, moving as quickly as he dared. The cabin was old and the floorboards shifted alarmingly under his weight, but there was no point putting it off any longer. They were going to creak whether he moved now or wasted 10 minutes strategising about it, and he would be better of getting the noise out of the way while both of the other figures were still outside.

The back rooms of Kane's hideaway were surprisingly humdrum. There was nothing even slightly suspicious about them, which Sam found suspicious in itself. It was set out like a cross between a hunting lodge and an academic's retreat, sparsely and simply furnished but with shelved overflowing with books and other assorted nick-knacks, none of them overtly supernatural in nature. It could be that the rooms were just for show, to appease any curious or lost hikers that stumbled across Kane's land while he was absent. Or it could be that Kane kept his retail and manufacturing spaces separate. If his goods were in demand, perhaps it paid not to allow too many 'people' to view how he worked.

This could simply be a genuine woodland retreat and nothing more, but Sam couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the case. There was a definite 'something' in the air that one item and whatever (apparently so far unsuccessful) security measures Kane had put in place together couldn't account for. Sam just hoped that when he found the source of that feeling he would also find Dean's soul. That Kane would have left it with the rest for the big reveal, and that his showmanship would extend to lengthy small talk and bartering over the price.

He moved smoothly through a simple kitchen, trying to ignore the knife rack that seemed to take up an entire wall, and was just about to cut across another, more exposed hallway into the other half of the house, when he thought he had found what he was looking for.

A lone door, the only one he had seen so far that came with its own lock.

The hallway he was now standing in led to the front of the cabin, and light spilling from the rooms there reached him even where he hid.

Movement and shadows. The slamming of a door. Footsteps that practically vibrated the whole structure, and Sam didn't dare even breathe in case he was discovered. He could see the shadows of two figures leaking out into the corridor from a room at its left far end. Sam was currently lurking in the kitchen doorway at the other end of the passageway, off to its right side. Between these two rooms, on the same wall as the one Kane occupied, was the object of his search.

The shadows shifted again, tauntingly close. It was all well and good retreating back into the kitchen where he couldn't be seen, but he would achieve nothing until he made it through that door. He was just going to have to risk it. Trust that whatever conversation they were having would remain in that room. His own shadow would fan out behind him, not crossing their threshold. He still had a chance. Surely Kane was too gentlemanly to do business in a hallway.

As if to confirm his thoughts one of the shadows retreated, and the sound of tinkling, then pouring liquid, reached Sam's ears.

"_Why Kane. Much more hospitable that our last meeting, I must say_." And the second figure also took a step further into the room, leaving Sam with only a split-second's more hesitation before making his move.

He crept as quietly as he could to the door, pulling out his lock picking tools once more and going to work, heart racing at how utterly exposed he now was, standing in a practically fully lit entrance hall next to a room containing a mystical merchant and a who knew what. He was also staking a lot on the fact the door that potentially led to Kane's private workshop would be easily pickable. As if Kane used a normal key.

The newcomers voice had sound low and somewhat menacing, with the lilt of an untraceable accent, but Kane showed no sign of being intimidated.

"_That's because this time you aren't going to succeed in cheating me out of any of my supplies_."

"_What! I never_..."

"_I must say, I was surprised when I got your call. I thought you'd made it clear that you would not be requiring my services again_."

"_Times change Kane, I_…" A slight hint of panic, but Sam missed the rest of the sentence. It was overshadowed by the faint pop of the lock, and his own ridiculously loud intake of breath.

"_That they do. And it's in that spirit that my prices have also changed. You're going to be paying me double_."

The resulting expletive gave Sam the cover he needed to whip the door open and slip inside, closing it firmly behind him, aware as he did so that he was sealing himself in.

The door had opened onto a stairway leading downwards into an open space, lit with an unusual red glow - like a dark room but with a hint more pink. Sam had no idea where the light was coming from. He didn't think it was electric.

The ground, when he reached it, was packed earth and he felt more confident about moving around down here than he had on the wooden boards. The basement seemed to take up a lot more space than the entire lower floor of the cabin would allow for, and while there were no walls down here, the space was divided into sections by several wall hanging and thick curtains, concealing more of it from Sam's view than he was comfortable with.

He could hear Kane and his guest moving around directly above him. They were still arguing and their voices, though muffled, were surprisingly clear, and it was easy enough for Sam to make out what they were saying. The movement was alarming but repetitive. They were not changing locations. It seemed that one of the party was pacing in agitation. Sam doubted it was Kane. His voice was annoyingly calm, the same smooth arrogance that had whispered against his neck back in the alley, and Sam shivered violently again as though he could still feel the wisp of breath there, and felt tainted.

Forcing himself to focus he took in the room. There seemed to be only one entrance and exit, the stairs he had just come down, so he needed to work fast.

The sight before him was shocking, even if Sam had been preparing himself for what to expect. Shelves lined all the walls and several of the partitions. Freestanding cabinets and bookcases formed small rooms of their own. Tables and workbenches seemed to fill every inch of floor space, and every surface was crowded. Books and papers covered in symbols Sam didn't even begin to try to decipher. Small bottles and vials of who knew what ingredients and potions. Vast jars of strangely glowing fluids, often with items suspended in them that Sam would have paid good money not to have to look at too closely.

This was a workshop the scale of which Sam had not anticipated. Kane's operation was huge. If this was just one of dozens of different locations he had been sighed and known to work from… If every one of those sites had a lab like this… How was it possible they had never known about this guy before? How was it possible there were others like him in different states, working so large scale, and Sam had never even read hints about it in all the numerous texts and websites he had perused over the years?

Sam was sure the room must have been organised in some logical fashion, but it made absolutely no sense to him. To find what he was looking for, he was going to have to search it all. Going to have to check each of the hundred shelves and work stations. Rummage through all of their clutter and check each for hidden compartments.

This could take hours.

He started to the right of the stairs, noting the direction in his head so he could keep better track in the labyrinth like layout of where he had been. The room was set out in such a way that there was no easy or obvious way of moving from one side to the other. Sometimes thick velvet curtains blocked his path and he could find no way though, they were single solid sheets weighed down at the bottoms to form effective walls. Sometimes they could be easily moved aside, forming only fake partitions into hidden anti-rooms, and every time he reached one he was hit with the same uncertainty and terror. He had absolutely no idea what he was going to find on the other side. No idea if there was anything living down here other than himself.

Or anything recently dead for that matter.

The strange red light seemed to hum softly somehow. It made his skin tingle like it was burrowing its way into him, planting doubts and paranoia even as he fought desperately for calm. His every sense was on the alert, even ones he wasn't aware he had. He was feeling unease in parts of his of his body he had never even noticed before. The air was unnaturally thick, and seemed to even smell its colour, and Sam was getting more and more jumpy and light-headed the further into the room he moved. He tried to push it away but that didn't work, so he tried to focus on exactly what it was that was unnerving him and realised that despite the rooms apparent stillness, he didn't feel alone.

Every step he took into the confusing maze, every dead-end and retraced step, made him more and more aware of how far from the stairs he was straying. While he could see them at almost all times, possibly the only part of the room that was constantly visible, he ached with the knowledge that he could not easily reach them. He was beginning to feel like Theseus, and wished that someone had given him a thread so he could find his way back out again. Kane's cabinets and desks were tall and unmovable. Even at full strength, with his long legs working to full non-wobbly capacity, he would have had a hard time scrambling his way over their walls and out. And he really didn't want to have to touch any of the objects on their surfaces unless he could help it. He had no idea what anything did.

The voices were still going at it strong and steady above him, but every time one of them stopped, every time there was a pause for breath or the pacing range extended, Sam was convinced his time was up. But it seemed like the pair were just getting warmed up. Sam didn't really understand the full extent of their disagreement, this was hindered even further by the occasional shift into a different language, but he caught enough to work out what he imagined the problem to be. Something about Istanbul, the still beating heart of an immortal, and a deranged zombie. And they both kept accusing each other of thievery and treachery, which Sam couldn't help but think was probably a given. Look where they were for crying out loud.

He was getting quite intrigued despite himself. It was the most bizarre, slightly abstract argument he had ever heard, and some of the images painted were exceptionally vivid, although not always appealing. It seems they had each suspected the other of a double cross so Kane had substituted some ingredients, hence the insane killer zombie rather than the placid servant that had been expected. Kane denied all charges blaming misuse of his pristine wares, and the fact that if – Sam still couldn't distinguish between the newcomer's name and some of Kane's more imaginative or foreign insults – hadn't stolen other items from him and no doubt contaminated the ritual, it would never have happened.

Sam wasn't sure exactly whose side he was on in all this and as long as they kept it up, or possibly even killed each other, he didn't care. But no. There was a line they never crossed. They each needed the other to thrive, and the argument was predictably cyclical, always coming back to the matter of price whenever it got too heated. Before either party could let their emotions get away with them.

It did give Sam some hope however. If Kane's side of the story was true, and it would be a strange lie to create about your own operation, it was possible to steal from him and live to tell the tale (or abjectly deny it). Someone had done it once, although Sam couldn't help but imagine they had merely grabbed the nearest thing they had come across, because searching for one thing in all this arranged chaos, knowing you could be disturbed at any moment... It took a lot more nerve than Sam possessed. It took every ounce of will he had - and the image of Dean's steady decline on his motel bed, tormented and alone - not to bolt every time the wooden structure around him creaked, or one of the thick drapes fluttered in the non-existent wind.

"_Exactly how long are you going to keep this up_?" It was that calm and arrogant tone again, laced with amusement, and its change in direction and air of authority caused both Sam and the newcomer to take in his words.

Sam's eyes darted to the ceiling despite himself, before flicking back down to the shelf in front of him, frantically running his hands across the wooden supports and opening draws, knocking anything that looked non-threatening aside to have a thorough look; hands protected the best he could by the sleeves of his jacket. He wasn't stupid enough to touch anything with his bare hands; not while his presiding emotion was barely contained panic.

"_I don't know what you…"_

"_Oh, I think you do_." Smug and vaguely sickening. "_I think you know exactly what I mean. This little act. Coming here at all. I only play along because it amuses me, but your arrogance has started to try my patience_."

No. no. no. You have much more patience, surely. Why had Sam not bought gloves? They'd picked up practically every other winter accessory over the last week. Dean had even insisted on buying him a woolly hat with floppy ear warmers that they both knew was going to get lost or ruined beyond repair at the first possible opportunity, but no gloves. Would this have gone faster with gloves? If he wasn't too freaked out to touch anything? To feel for hidden compartments?

"_My arrogance…!_" The guy had a point.

"_How long did you think it would take_?"

"_What? This deal? I thought it would have been over long_…"

"_No you didn't. You can't lie to me; I know everything that goes on under my roof_."

Really? Perhaps you need to recheck some of your sensors then.

"_How long a distraction were you planning to make_?"

Oh God.

Sam froze. Kane's guest might have been struggling to work out what was going on, but Sam was suddenly struck with the horrible realisation that he knew exactly what Kane was talking about.

"_How long were you going to keep me busy up here_?" It wasn't anger, but amusement in his voice. "_How long did you think it would take for him to find it_?"

"_Who?_"

"_Your boy. The one standing directly below us clutching a copy of_ The Lexicon of Common Malignant Paranormal Biological Pathogens_"._

Kane stamped violently on the ceiling showering Sam with dust; shocking him so badly he dropped the book he was holding.

This was not good.

Even as the accused launched into a tirade of denials Kane was moving for the door.

This was not good on so many levels.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Restoring the Balance**

**By Floralia**

Okay, so it turns out I have way to much free time on my hands. Either that or my English teachers were right – having a plan does let you work with more speed and direction.

I've tried to take into consideration people's call for slightly shorted chapters, but I've always had a problem keeping within word limits so they may flare up again. Also, I can't really limit the length of each section because there is a certain amount of stuff that _has_ to happen in each, otherwise the two story strands won't conclude at the same time and we'll have more panicked filler babbling. And believe me when I tell you, you don't what that.

Anyway, enough from me. Thanks for your continued support, and for actually reading this at all, and I hope you enjoy the next 'thrilling' instalment.

00000000000000

_Dean didn't think he had ever listened to anything so carefully in his life, so why did it make so little sense? It was as though he had been concentrating so heavily on the individual words that he had somehow missed the picture as a whole. But the words he could remember had scared him so much it was possible he had pushed the full truth away. Simply refused to take any more in._

_Sam had taken his voice again. The second he had laid eyes on his little brother it had fled._

_He'd tried to make conversation, to at least let his brother know that he was finally here, that Sam wouldn't have to be alone any longer, but while his jaws opened and closed no sound came out. Nothing beyond a muted gasp. So instead he clung to Sam's hand for all he was worth, like it was the most precious thing in the world. Which it was._

_Unable to speak or do anything at all to fix this, Dean found that he couldn't keep still. He wanted to pace, but he was still feeling dizzier than he would admit to, and knew his legs would never hold him. And now he was here, now he had him back, there was no way he was letting go of Sam again. So he sat, twitching like a heroine addict, fingers exploring the hand he held in his, taking in its every contour and detail until he was sure that he would be able to draw an exact replica of its every line, careful to avoid the intrusive IV he had to resist the urge to pull out. His eyes, his every focus, was on that hand, because if he looked at Sam's face, took in the picture as a whole, he couldn't breath._

_The relentless beeping had followed him here, it would not leave him be and it made his head ach beyond endurance but he would not complain, because this time the beeping was all Sam's, and it made him sob every time he realised he could hear it. He tried so hard to be strong. To be the anchor he knew Sam needed him to be, but he could find no purchase. He was drifting, lost, and he realised all too clearly now that Sam was the one who kept _him_ grounded. Had done so for so long, even when he hadn't been around, that Dean didn't know what to do now his direction had been taken from him._

_Sam's rhythm was slow, and while that worried the doctors Dean could not criticise because it was a miracle he could hear it at all. It was proof that his brother was still with him, the only proof he had, because the cold hand he held limp in his own, tried desperately to warm, was the same one that had fallen slack in his back at the alley._

_They had revived Sam in the ambulance. Paramedics and an electrical charge had done for Sam what Dean could not, although he had not regained consciousness since Dean had denied him his last words. Extensive hours of surgery had followed that, and they had come so close to losing him. Sam had given in twice but the surgeons had convinced him to fight a little bit longer, and Dean had slept through it all._

_Sam had had an intensive emergency operation, his spleen removed, his heart had stopped and he had almost bled out on the table, and Dean had not been alert enough to provide even long distance emotional support, something he doubted he would ever forgive himself for._

_They would be coming for him soon. The nurse that had wheeled him in here had made it clear that Dean's time would be limited, and he doubted he would have the strength this time to fight them. As much as he needed this contact, the attempt to make amends, there was a part of Dean – the home of his fears and self loathing – that knew it would be a relief to go. To not have to see and hear, smell and feel his failure. They would be here to take Dean soon, and he was yet to say any of the hundred thoughts and feelings that crowded his head. Yet to tell Sam any of the things he had been terrified he would never again get the chance to tell him. And so with a sigh and a superhuman force of will, he lifted his eyes from Sam's still hand and turned to face him._

_Sam's feature's were ghostly pale, his complexion waxy, but he was no longer blue and Dean clung valiantly to that fact; used it to give him the strength to look his brother in the eye. Or he would have done had they been open._

_Sam still had machines monitoring his every fluxuation, and although Dean had asked in as many different ways as he could voice, no-one was wiling to tell him how long they would remain necessary or when Sam would wake. So far only one nurse had slipped and used the word 'if' in front of him. _If_ Sam woke. It was absurd. There had been a time when it was impossible to get him to sleep._

_There was no tube down his brother's throat though; Dean's view of his Sam's face was clear. While his blood oxygen levels were one of the may things being monitored, for the time being Sam's lungs were doing their job unaided, and Dean was insanely proud of them for that fact, because they were one of the few things that were. Sam was breathing by himself, and as long as he continued to do so Dean would cling on to his hope, would continue to push away the words Sam's doctors had gently tried to tell him._

"_Hey Sammy." His voice was weak, but the sound seemed so ridiculously loud Dean was almost surprised that it didn't wake him. Didn't have the staff barging in to see what the yelling was about. He hadn't used his voice for so long with Sam that he had lost his volume control, so he cleared his throat and tried again._

"_I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere," Dean lied. "You're safe now, so you take you're time, but you come back to me, okay? I need you to come back to me."_

_The sound of the door opening behind him was so loud, and his reflexes were so dim, that it caused Dean to jump, almost yanking out the strands of his brother's hair that he had been playing with. _

_Sam's hair mustn't be in his eyes. He needed to be able to see Dean when he woke._

_The nurse was back and she gave him a sad smile, knowing that she was intruding. Dean knew she was only doing her job and felt bad for making it more difficult, but he needed to be here._

"_Please. Just a little while longer?" They had seen him at his weakest so he felt no shame in begging now. No shame in what this place had reduced him to, because there was no shame in Sam._

_He had pushed his luck already, had already been granted one reprieve, so he knew this time it wouldn't be allowed. But he had spent so much of his visit simply building up the nerve to be with Sam, that he felt like he had barely been here at all._

_She said something quietly, they all spoke quietly in here, with a reverence Dean had always felt but never been able to show, and Dean knew it was along the lines of a promise to bring him back later if he would rest in his own bed for now. Knew because that was what she had said the last time, so he didn't want to waste his last opportunity to hear his brother's breath or heartbeat by listening to her._

_He nodded mutely. He was more tired than he could understand, and while he was surprised at his own willingness to acquiesce he knew he was still weak, and he needed to be strong for Sam. Knew that Sam's doctors and nurses had things they needed to do, that they had put off so he could have this time. Even so his heart broke at the thought of leaving Sam again, and his hand rebelled, clamping itself tightly around his brother's even as he tried to convince it to relinquish its hold. He lifted his eyes to the nurse in apology and she smiled again, gently removing Sam's hand from inside his own and placing it carefully beside him on the bed. And Dean could _feel_ the loss of contact like a punch. Could feel the air getting thinner every rotation of his stupid wheelchair further away from his brother he was taken. But there was nothing he could do about it but be pushed away._

_He went back to his room. He followed orders like the good soldier he was. He slept. He let his body heal. And it was only after he had woken that he wished he hadn't. That he remembered again the cold fingers of dread that had prevented him from letting go of his brother's hand. The last tangible link to his Sam._

_But by then it was too late._

_The doctors tried to reassure him. To convince him that there was nothing he could have done had he been present and awake, but nothing they could ever say would make him believe them. He had known not to leave. He had promised Sam he would stay with him. It had taken him almost 40 minutes to find his voice, and the one thing he'd said had been a lie._

_Dean had gone to bed, and he'd slept, and Sam had thrown a blood clot in one of his many internal wounds. Had been taken back into surgery, and while again he had taken them all by surprise and insisted on coming out of the operating theatre alive, the 'ifs' were a lot more prevalent now. _

_In fact, Dean could raise a 'when' from no-one._

_They didn't put up an argument when Dean demanded to see him. They didn't even recheck his cursed blood pressure, and it was that more than their words that told Dean they didn't expect that Sam would make it out of here alive._

-0-

Sam stood stupidly still, only vaguely taking in the cry of rage and the threatening footsteps above him. The foreigner was denying all knowledge of his presence, but Kane would not be dissuaded and he issued a bellow of such magnitude and rage that Sam was stunned with fear. And he was not the only one.

One single indistinguishable word and the room above him fell silent; the power in Kane's voice and presence was undeniable.

And now he was angry.

And on his way. The only means of escape Sam had was the door Kane would soon be bursting through.

The stairs were visible from every angle, from every part of the room. There was nowhere for him to hide, not at his current height anyway, so at the exact same instant as the basement door flew from its hinges, showering the room with debris, Sam dropped. One fluid, agonising motion, and he actually slapped his hand against his mouth to silence his scream like he was a cartoon.

"I know you're down here. I know you know that. There really is no point in wasting either of our time pretending otherwise."

There was every point. There was every reason in the world to stop Kane from finding him, but even as he was thinking this Sam didn't know where his focus now lay. In evading Kane and getting out of this basement alive? That would be his brother's death sentence. The only hope Dean had was for Sam to somehow overpower or trick Kane long enough to give him time to finish his search and leave.

The only chance Sam had of living was to remain hidden and hope he could slink away without Kane noticing.

Kane couldn't see him through the heavy furniture and clutter that filled the room, Sam knew that, but he also couldn't see Kane. He could hear the other man's heavy booted footsteps making their way down the rickety wooden stairs, but when they reached the earth below they were silent. Peering through the tiniest of chinks under the bottom of a bookcase he could see what he thought was Kane's figure moving steadily into the room.

"He's not going to come down and help you. You needn't bother counting on that. I've trapped him in a binding field. It'll take him a while to break free. You and I are completely alone."

As silently but as quickly as he could given the disorder in the room and the strain on his doubly wounded abdomen, Sam made his way back from the bookcase he'd been searching, from where Kane had somehow known him to be. Perhaps the items themselves were protected, and Kane had been able to trace his movements by what he'd touched. Perhaps if he touched nothing more than the floor, Kane would no longer be able to sense him.

"There's no need to hide. I think it's time you and I had a little chat. A little conversation about what exactly your master sent you here for. Exactly why he sought out my services. Did he honestly think I wouldn't suspect something like this? You must be very loyal, or very expendable, to be here. Surely you must have realised I would have tripled my protections knowing who I had invited here. I promise you. If you talk to me. If you answer my questions and abandon your master like he abandoned you, then your suffering will be minimal."

Kane moved further into the room, and Sam tried desperately to make his way out, keeping his body as low to the ground as possible, searching out Kane's shadows and feet whenever he could, hating that he could not see them at all times. That he had no way of knowing for sure in this accursed maze if he was moving closer to, or further away, from Kane or the door.

He'd lost him. He could no longer distinguish Kane's shape from everything else. When the merchant suddenly spoke it was from so close Sam was taken by surprise. His flinch rippled the curtain beside him.

Even the wind seemed to hold its breath while Sam waited to see if Kane would pounce on the movement.

"You must know I've been able to sense you from the moment you set foot over my perimeter?"

And perhaps Sam had. He'd felt the atmosphere shift, but had attributed it to his proximity to Kane's supernatural wares. But he realised too late that it was probably Kane's sensors he had felt. Breaking in had been absurdly easy; Kane had been expecting someone to try it. Had wanted to catch them in the act. It was likely he had only made it this far because Kane had let him. And the feeling of eyes on his skin…. The presence in this room that was not his own…

It was all so very obvious now he thought about it, but his need to help Dean had blocked out his other senses, and it was much too late to lament that now. All he could do was pray he could make it out of here. There was the insane possibility that whoever was trapped upstairs would welcome the release. If Sam was the only additional figure Kane had sensed it seemed surprising, but likely, that the other man was telling the truth. That Kane genuinely was being paranoid and sullying his reputation. It was crazy, he knew, but it was possible that together they could make it out of here.

They could fight over the artefact afterwards.

"Oh come on." Vague impatience, for the first time all night. "I gave you the chance. You can't say I didn't offer to be lenient. The Thief." With that last phrase Kane clapped his hands sharply and muttered something under his breath, and before Sam had the chance to even register what was going on, the furniture and cloth around him was shifting. The whole layout of the room was changing, and he only just had time to worry that he was going to be crushed when it stopped.

The path between himself and Kane was laid wide open.

Was that it? Was that what the room had been waiting for? Instructions? If he'd come in and asked for what he wanted 20 minutes ago would it have cleared a path straight to Dean's salvation and let him walk through? No… Kane would never have allowed it. Sam was vaguely impressed all the same. He'd thought it odd that Kane would have a workshop that was so impossible to navigate.

Kane's eyes locked with his own, and Sam was suddenly acutely aware, and strangely angry, that he had been caught on his knees. That he was cowering before this man. If he'd known what Kane could do he would never have tried to slink away. Never have given Kane the satisfaction of reducing him so low.

He retained eye contact as he slowly rose himself up, gripping onto a workbench that had come to a stop at his side, refusing to acknowledge to himself or Kane the agony that simple movement caused him. Sam's eyes showed hatred and defiance, but the look in Kane's was harder to read. For someone so sure of themselves, it looked suspiciously like surprise.

"You?" he whispered, taking Sam in, clearly recognising him as the broken form he had left on the ally floor hours ago, and Sam thought that if possible he sounded slightly impressed. Sam was probably the first victim that had ever managed to track Kane this far, to break into his lair, even if it turned out his access had been granted by the man himself.

"Where is it?" He kept his voice hard and it didn't waver. Didn't betray him this time; betray the extent of his fear.

"You really came all this way? You really, honestly thought you could get it back from me? You were really willing to try?" He was smiling, but it wasn't mocking. It was genuine astonishment, and something bordering on respect.

"It's reversible isn't it?" Sam replied, as though what he was doing here was obvious and Kane an idiot for not being able to figure that out. As long as he was an object of curiosity Sam didn't think Kane would rush into killing him. "I have another two and a half hours to undo what you did."

Definitely impressed now.

"How did you find me?" A smile, like a shared secret Sam wasn't sure he'd been let in on.

"I thought you'd got it all figured out. I thought you'd known exactly what I'd been up to from the moment I first stepped over the perimeter," Sam mocked.

"So did I."

Sam fell silent, staring at Kane, completely wrong footed but determined not to show it. He had absolutely no idea which direction to move in from here. Kane seemed to be eyeing him in a similar way to how Dean had eyed the puppy earlier, when it had impressed him with its barking. Sam wasn't quite sure how to take that.

"Okay."

"What?" Where was this going?

"Okay. You can have it. _If_ you can tell me which one it is." This was a trick. It had to be. That arrogant smile was back in place. The air of knowing far more than everyone else around him. "I don't think we really need to go through what happens if you don't guess correctly. But then, you must have been prepared for that, or you never would have come here."

With another mutter and a clap Kane cleared the way over to a large ornate cabinet on the other side of the room, one that Sam doubted he would have gotten around to had he been searching here all night. Opening one of the draws with a key tucked away in his black robes he pulled out seven of the artefacts Sam had handled earlier.

Sam gulped. Seven. How many other people had…?

"Only one of them is active," Kane drawled lazily. "And that's the one your brother set off. Very emotionally unstable man, by the way. I could sense him coming from miles away. The others are blank. For the time being. Although after you've picked one, if you get it wrong, odds are it won't be any longer."

He laid the seven cloths out on a table top in front of Sam, who continued to stare at him in confusion, still not sure where Kane was going with this. It seemed Kane misunderstood his expression however.

"Oh come on. A one in seven chance. That's better odds than you had a couple of minutes ago. Don't tell me you don't want to play. Then you'd have no chance at all of getting out of here. What is your brother worth to you? Are you willing to risk it? How do you know the other things I have in store for you won't be worse ways to die?"

Sam was still staring at Kane as though he was insane. Only one of these devices had been activated. While Dean's may no longer be glowing like it had in the alley, while it may have no striking physical difference to its dormant counterparts, it couldn't be more obvious which it was. It positively hummed with the energy it was giving off. Or taking in. And it was undeniably Dean. Even if they had all been working Sam was sure he would have been able to pick his brother's out of the crowd. It vibrated with a frequency that was his alone.

"This is some kind of trick." All the trepidation Sam felt was in those words.

"You think you know?" Kane's bravado was failing again slightly in the face of Sam's mounting incredulity.

"Well… Yeah!" Did this guy think he was stupid?

"Then which is it?"

Dreading what was to come next, but too curious to put it off any longer, Sam reached out a tentative finger and pointed to the material that was even now leaching his brother of life. He had to fight down the urge to simply take it and run, but he knew that would get him nowhere.

"How did you…?" Kane seemed at a loss for words. It was obvious Sam had not even considered any of the six other choices.

"Well… Isn't it kind of obvious?" Sam felt like he was explaining the two times table to a genius, and was not quite sure why he wasn't getting it. Kane's reaction to this statement was not one he had ever expected.

"What are you?"

There may have been a millisecond of fear, but at Sam's continued look of confusion it was quickly pushed away, and amusement was back in his tone. "You don't even know, do you? Oh my god, and to think I washed my knife. Do you have any idea how valuable your blood is? In the right circles of course."

Kane was suddenly staring at him like he was the most fascinating and wonderful thing he'd ever seen, and it was not a comfortable feeling. Sam wasn't sure what had just happened, but he knew that now, more than ever, he had suddenly plunged way out of his depth.

Sam edged slightly closer to the table, wanting to be closer to Dean, subconsciously seeking his protection from the hungry look in Kane's eyes, and the slight tingling sensation of Deanness the cloth was emitting gave him strength, despite its origin. He might not be 100 per cent sure what was going on, but it was clear he had something Kane wanted. And perhaps he could take advantage of that fact.

As though reading his thoughts, a not completely unreasonable supposition, or merely noting the way Sam glanced to his brother's shade for aid, Kane laid down his terms.

"You can take it. You can walk right out of here with it, I won't stop you. I'll even tell you the correct words. How to go about releasing the essence back into your brother."

"And in return?"

"You make me rich."

"Me?"

"Your blood."

"You'll give me my brother, but in return, you kill me?" Even so, it was tempting. Possibly the only way one of them was going to see out the nigh.

"Kill you? What would be the sense in that? Your blood is a valuable commodity, quite the rare ingredient. It would be much more profitable to keep you alive. Indefinitely. You and I could be very useful allies."

"What does it do?"

"Hmmm?" It was as though he was sweet talking a child.

"My blood. You said it was an ingredient. For what?"

"Oh, I don't think we need to get bogged down in the details right now, do we?"

Nothing good then.

He was having a hard enough time coming to terms with the fact he was different from the majority of the human race in an intangible way; in fact he was refusing to come to terms with it at all. But to suggest he differed on a physical level… Sam didn't want to know that. Didn't want to have heard those words, because while he had never really stopped to consider the possibility before, now it had been suggested to him, he knew it was true. He could _feel_ it. He had never before been so aware of his own blood flowing through his veins. The beat of his heart pumping something suddenly foreign through his system, but which was him. Had always bee him. And there was power in it. He couldn't feel it, couldn't feel anything other than tainted and suddenly sick, but it was there, whether he wanted it or not. And while he couldn't use it, others could. Others like Kane. And they would not do anything good with it.

A partnership with Kane to save Dean. From the sudden air of an indulgent uncle to his incredibly obtuse nephew, Sam knew it would not be an equal partnership. He would be nothing but a tool to Kane, a means to an end. And if Kane wouldn't tell Sam what that end was it must be something horrendous beyond imagining, and Sam had a pretty active imagination. Kane could cause enough death and mayhem without Sam's help. If he was genuinely excited at the thought of having essence of Sam on tap then he could only be seeing his capacity for cruelty and profit increase.

But it would save Dean.

He was back to that same choice. Hundred's of unseen potential future victims weighed against his brother's life, but even as he thought this Sam new there was no choice to make. Kane was not going to give him one. Was not going to let him walk out of here and risk him slipping away, not when there was absolutely no way for Sam to get away unaided. There would be no partnership because Sam was already a prisoner. Had been since he had first left the car and slipped into the shelter of the trees. Since Dean had fallen into darkness.

Or perhaps since before that. 23 years ago. He'd always been marked for something; perhaps he's merely avoided the demon long enough for something else, some other fate, to claim him, as something inevitably would.

"And you'll let Dean go free?" Best to act as though he was playing along. Hadn't already figured out this was just another cruel game. He would not go down without a fight. Would not let Kane use him as long as there was any alternative at his disposal to remove Kane's temptation, no matter how drastic.

"You have my word. Take it."

And that's when Sam did something so incredibly stupid. As though every stupid thing he had ever done in his life had been in preparation for that one simple act. Perhaps he wasn't thinking clearly through the fear and confusion dragged up by Kane's recent revelations. Perhaps his brain was too busy trying to plot a way out to spare a thought for anything else. Or perhaps he just wanted Dean so urgently that his body reacted to the need the only way it knew how.

Whatever the reason, Sam obeyed Kane's instructions, knowing he was sealing his own fate, that from that point on he would follow any order that was given him.

Unthinking, Sam reached out and lifted the artefact from the table.

The reaction was instantaneous and blinding. Pain beyond anything he had ever imagined possible, and it hurt all the more because it did not belong to him. It was Dean's. All of it. Ever drop of anguish; every piece of despair, of fear, self loathing and regret that had seeped from Dean in the last three hours was siphoned directly into Sam in one condensed rush. He felt it all, but it was impossible to pick out individual thoughts or emotions amidst the chaos.

He was assaulted viciously by images and memories that weren't his, and it was more painful and invasive than any vision because this wasn't some random stranger. This was Dean. This was what Dean felt every single day, maybe in a watered down and more manageable form, but it was there. Lurking beyond the surface of every smile and every quip. This mind altering, gut wrenching pain.

And at the centre of it all was Sam. There father was there too, no doubt responsible for his fair share, as well as some other distant figures he could not firmly grab hold of, but whether it was because Sam had been the catalyst that had set the link in motion, or because this was simply the place he held in Dean's mind, the majority of Dean's emotional turmoil seemed to focus on him.

The effort of remaining upright was not worth it when it was that easy to sink to the floor. Dean's emotional suffering only kick started his own, and his mind simply couldn't cope. Wasn't built to house them both, to function through that much torment. And even as his mind began to shut down it realised that this must have been Kane's plan all along. This had been the way he'd intended to keep Sam here, alive and within easy reach, compliant to his needs. He was being driven mad by his brother's own neuroses, and soon he would be nothing but a shell. Just one more disturbing vessel for another one of Kane's ingredients.

Kane was merely watching him as Sam lay gasping at his feet. Those arrogant eyes were going to be the last thing his conscious mind saw. His failure to help Dean the last thing in his awareness. He had known Dean was hurting but he had not been able to fix it, and that failure would destroy them both.

Kane was approaching, and he was powerless to resist. Couldn't get his body to obey his panicked need for flight. Kane smiled at him in triumph, reached down as though in slow motion, and touched him.

The impact was as immediate as it was surprising. Kane's hand gripped his arm and the word flew back. The connection was severed and the cloth fell from his grasp. But Sam was broken too, and not only with the lingering memory of what he had felt. The pain was physical as well. It was as though catching snatches of himself lying in that hospital bed had reminded him why he had been there. Reminded his body to hurt, and every single inch of it obeyed. He couldn't even cry out, try to release some of the force of it that way, because that would have taken more breath and energy than he could remember having.

Kane was advancing on him again, and somehow Sam found the strength he needed to back away, scuttling across the dusty earth floor. But it was too much. He heard a loud bellow of rage echoing above him, but he couldn't process what it was. He was leaning heavily on the object behind him but the cabinet he had thought he'd seen was no longer there. He sank back into rich velvet, and like his mind it refused to take his weight.

He was spiralling into darkness and there was a chaos of noise around him, but it didn't matter because his life fell silent the second he hit the floor.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Restoring the Balance**

**By Floralia**

…_Dean slowly laid his head on his brother's shoulder, stubbornly refusing to believe what had been so obvious to everybody else for so long now. That as much as Sam may seem to want to make the journey back to him the distance was too far now, and he would never have the strength to get there._

_And then, as if to confirm his thoughts, the screeching monotone of his baby brother's heart monitor broke the silence…_

_There was more noise and movement than Dean thought he had ever seen. Everything had been so still and quiet for the eternity he had sat with Sam, waiting for this very moment, that the brutality of it took him by surprise. Not the pain and fear of it, he'd spent hours anticipating that, but the loud, bustling activity was more than his brain could handle._

_He looked up in surprise as the noise hit him, momentarily too stunned to take it in, and then by some sickeningly cruel contrast the room exploded into life around him._

_He stood automatically, the wheelchair forgotten, watching through a kind of abstract haze as the medical team that had warned him all along that this would happen worked to save his brother._

_He was gently nudged aside, and the action seemed so sweet amidst the heavy sounds and bustle that it was disorientating. Had Dean been flung out of the way he would perhaps have understood the move better._

_He drifted of his own volition to the far side of the room, drawn there by some invisibly current. He had been right to think that his legs would struggle to hold him, but the wall gave him the support Sam could not and kept him upright, watching the scene play out before him through a kind of detached calm._

_The defibrillator was introduced and charged, and that first jolt, that first painfully unnatural arch of his brother's body did nothing to revive Sam, but Dean felt the effect of it as though it had been his own. That first harsh, drastic measure to keep his brother alive coursed through him and he flinched along with Sam, and when he came to rest the confusion was gone, and the scene was all to horrifically, painfully, real._

_All the walls in the world would not be able to keep him upright then and he sank to the ground with a whimper, the most un-Deanlike sound he had ever produced, but anything louder would have required more oxygen than was in the room. And so he held his breath, wishing that the doctors and nurses would do the same and save what little air there was for Sam._

_A second jolt and nothing, and Dean could see the looks the hospital staff were flinging amongst themselves, and knew their efforts now were no longer for Sam's benefit, but for his own. To prove to him that Sam had been given the best chance they knew how, that there was nothing Dean could have done differently to fight off the inevitable._

_He didn't care. The motive could not have mattered less to him outside of the fact they charged those paddles for a third time, sent a third electrical charge to try and jump start his brother's heart._

"_We've got a rhythm." And if Dean had not been suddenly so ridiculously tired he would have smiled at the surprise in the nurses voice, but the room was starting to haze again and dark spots danced before his eyes, obscuring his view of Sam and his still beating heart._

_That's when he realised he was still holding his breath._

_He took in more with such an enormous gasp that it caused the whole room to turn and stare at him. Well, not the whole room. Not the one figure that mattered. Sam was the only one that didn't see him sat huddled on the floor in the corner of the room, but even as they rushed forwards to help him he pushed them off. He could find his legs again now. If Sam's heart could find the will to keep beating then it was the least Dean's legs could do to get him off his ass and back over to his brother's bedside._

_He knew the doctor's needed the time to check Sam out, and he graciously let them, but he hovered close by never letting Sam's pale face out of his sight. He didn't think he would ever be able to do that again. Not after what had happened the last time he had left Sam alone._

"_Don't you dare do that again." He scolded gently when they were alone in the still room once more, but Sam continued to refuse to acknowledge him._

_And so Dean again lost all track of time. There was no need for such a concept here. Here there was just him and Sam, the sound of his tired voice and the blessed beeping. He continued to talk to Sam even though his throat was beyond sore, even though he was no longer sure himself what he was saying, but he couldn't bare the silence. His words provided that one extra link, one more bridge between himself and Sam. One more route he could take to drag himself home._

_Occasionally the hospital personnel disturbed them, tried to convince Dean to eat or sleep, to consider himself for even a moment, but he wouldn't listen, wouldn't fall for that again. They had long ago stopped trying to convince him to return to his own room. And every minute that passed without a repeat performance of that last shock was a minute more that Dean allowed himself to hope. To begin to believe again that Sam might find a way to help him claw his way out of the hole he had fallen into._

_Dean had settled himself into a kind of trance. The repetitive strain of the heart monitor, the lulling motion of his right thumb drawing circles on the back of Sam's hand, of his left smoothing Sam's hair, his forehead or cheek, the constant opening and closing of his jaw, the passage of air. It was hypnotic, and it was impossible to gauge how many hours he had spent here. He knew it was night, but whether it was the first or second he had spent in this chair he couldn't tell, and he wouldn't ask. He didn't think he would find comfort in either answer._

_He had been waiting for it for so long that he missed it when it finally happened. He'd had too many false starts, imagined it so many times that he couldn't bare the anguish of once again being proved wrong. So when Sam's hand finally gave the tiniest of flickers inside his own Dean ignored it, put it down to his own lack of sleep and fragile emotional state._

_Luckily for them both Sam would not be ignored. It had taken an enormous feat of effort and endurance to reach this point, and now he was here he dam well wanted some acknowledgement of that fact._

_It was the slight confused, almost petulant crinkle of the brow he was busy smoothing that caught Dean's attention, and the next time Sam's fingers twitched inside his he was ready for them, catching them in the act and lifting them to his face to study the wonder that they were more closely. The movement was so light, so weak that Dean knew it was the fact he had seen it that allowed him to feel it at all, and it immediately made him ach. The tiny baby that was Sam had had more strength in his grip, had pulled at his brother's hand with more force than the adult could manage, so he pressed Sam's hand against his own cheek in an effort to still it. Suddenly insanely afraid that the effort involved in trying to move it was somehow draining strength from the small reserve his whole body now shared. Sam's lungs and heart were tiring – they needed the attention more than Dean._

_For once in his life Sam obeyed without having to be asked, and the more time that passed without him showing any sign of waking the tenser Dean became. His own need to know Sam was there eventually won over Sam's need for rest, and he found himself gently nudging his brother's sleeping form, giving his shoulder a poke to see if he could elicit a response._

_The brow crinkled further and this time it was accompanied by the tiniest twitch of his head, and the smallest of rasping murmurs. Dean couldn't be certain, but it was possible Sam had just told him to fuck off._

"_You really want those to be your first words back little bro?" he teased, ecstatic beyond reason that Sam would possibly have it in him to wake up cranky._

"_Come on, I think you need to wake up and apologise properly, don't you?" he coaxed, blowing gently on his brother's cheek in an effort to rouse him further._

_It was when Sam's eyelids began to flutter that Dean remembered what the doctor has told him during his last inspection, during a rare moment of optimism and kindness. That Sam was better off asleep for the time being, because if he was awake he would also possibly be aware, and the pain and stress of that realisation could hinder his body's ability to heal. Or if not hinder it, make it more of a chore._

_But it was too late to wonder if he'd done the right thing now. To wonder if he had interfered with the natural way Sam would have chosen to revive himself._

_The crinkle of confusion took on a different meaning entirely and he issued the most pitiful of whimpers before the effort paid off and the fluttering achieved the desired effect._

_Dean had waited for it for so long. He had begged, coaxed, bargained and prayed that he be allowed this moment. That Sam might finally, after an eternity of ups and downs and refusing to commit either way, chose a side. And that it be this side, with Dean, and he might finally open his eyes. Finally obey the command Dean had given him as he lay on the bloodstained ground, the one he had acknowledged he had heard but never had the strength to follow up on._

_Well, he had that strength now. Finally. He had lingered long enough to be allowed that smallest of reprieves. But the second Sam opened his eyes, and they remained open, Dean wished with a fever that took him aback that he had not._

_Sam's pupils wandered for the briefest of moments before settling themselves on Dean's face, which was still hovering so closely to his own with Sam's hand still clamped under his chin, and the expression in them took Dean's breath away, made him gasp, so his first word to Sam in this second lifetime was tainted and barely distinguishable from the sob Dean could no longer keep in._

"_Hey." So inadequate. But then Dean didn't think the words existed that would have fit the situation. And Sam seemed to know it. Dean cursed those expressive eyes, cursed that it could sometimes be so easy to know what his brother was thinking. Because the way he was looking at Dean in that instant, just for the slightest, minutest of seconds as Dean's voice wavered and refused to say his brother's name, was perhaps the most painful thing Dean had ever experienced. It was gone in an instant, soon replaced by the tidal wave of sensation that assaulted his body, but Dean had never been watching anything so closely in his life before, so there was no way he could have missed it. No way he could have imagined it either, because there was no way he would ever have considered the possibility of seeing that look on Sam's face while his gaze was fixed so keenly on his own. That wary look of uncertainty, of badly veiled fear._

_But it was over in an instant and the one that replaced it was equally as disturbing, and Dean honestly didn't know which he hated more. There was no light in Sam's eyes. Sam's whole life Dean had taken that sparkle for granted, and even when things were at their darkest, even when he might not feel it Dean had known that light to be there. It had been replaced now by a deep hollow well that was quickly filling with pain, with confusion, and the fearful realisation that he didn't know where he was or why his body hurt to the extent it did._

_Dean almost sobbed with relief when Sam closed them. Gave him a reprieve from having to look at how fundamentally altered his baby brother had become. There was no accusation in them, there wasn't the room left for it, but Dean felt it all the same. There must have been something he could have done somewhere along the way which could have changed things. Which would have meant they didn't have to be here._

_The effort of opening his eyes had already exhausted Sam beyond reason, and despite his lengthy vigil and mantra Dean now prayed that he slept. That this brief instant of awareness had been nothing more than his own hunger starved and sleep deprived mirage._

_He wanted his Sam back. He wanted him instant and here and whole. He wanted to hear his voice, his laugh, anything to block out the sound of his screaming from his brain._

_He wanted the light back in his Sammy's eyes, but even if he got it it was already too late. Sam had already scarred him, and he would see that look of fearful mistrust, their extensive capacity for pain, every time he looked in them. Every time he looked his brother in the eye for the rest of Sam's life. However long or short that proved to be._

00000000000000000

Sam opened his eyes to find himself enveloped in a thick deep red darkness. His body ached and his mind throbbed, and he wondered for a while if his face was bleeding. Blood in his eyes would account for the redness of his vision. He spent slightly longer wondering whether he should check, and a little more time after that if he would even have the ability to move his arm the distance required to reach that far.

The world was shaking violently, but so faintly he could barely feel it, and there was an unexplainable noise to go with the unexplainable fatigue and hurt, and it was all combining to make him extremely nauseas.

He finally got around to moving his hand to his forehead and it came away dry and clean, but the redness was still there, which made no sense. He shook his head, winching at the stupidity of the move, but it still didn't clear.

He lifted his head, and while the world lurched the shaking decreased and the noise hit him. It was like the world was being torn apart around him, and he realised then that the rocking he felt was the vibration of the violence as it passed through the packed earth beneath him.

An unearthly red glow, screams of pain and rage, and the deafening sound and rhythm of destruction. Was it possible that he had somehow stumbled across the end of the world? If so he was kind of wishing he's continued to sleep through it. Was there something he should be doing? Was it possible he had been in the middle of trying to prevent whatever the hell it was that was now happening?

Dean would know.

He had rolled over onto his front to push himself up while he was thinking this, and he had just reached the point of sitting upright when he thought his brother's name, and he was instantly bombarded with a stream of thoughts and emotions that almost sent him nose first back to the ground.

He remembered everything. That the red glow was the strange unnatural lighting of Kane's basement workshop, and the darkness was caused by the strange velvet curtained snare he had fallen through and tangled himself up in. The aches in his body were from a number of sources, too extensive to bother going into now, but part of the pain, and the reason it deepened at the sound of his brother's name… He remembered that all too clearly too. While he may not have been able to distinguish clearly what Dean's emotions were in aid of, he had felt the extent of the guilt and pain he carried within him, and it took a moment for the speed of his thoughts and emotions to synchronise, because one wanted to plough forwards while the other wanted nothing more than to shy away from the world and never have to participate in it again.

How could he possibly ever face Dean again knowing what he now knew? Knowing what he bottled away every day. Knowing how invasive and prying his new knowledge was. Dean would be mortified. It didn't mater whether or not Sam could face his brother; Dean would run a mile if he even suspected Sam had felt half of what he carried inside himself.

But at this exact moment in time that point seemed rather moot.

Slowly and carefully, partly not to aggravate his body any more and partly to make sure the movement went undetected, Sam tried to extricate his lower body from its material jail. He vaguely remembered passing out, the sensation of falling through a rich nothingness. The upper half of his body had fallen completely through one of the fake patricians and was concealed in the chamber beyond, which was why his view was so dark and empty. His legs were on the other side, tangled, and suddenly feeling very exposed. He had no idea what was going on outside of his hideaway, but it sounded extremely violent and not at all good.

He could pick out the occasional word through the throbbing fog in his mind and they were similar to the ones he had been listening to earlier that night. Treachery and betray and the raising of deranged decomposing killer zombies. It seemed that Kane's friend had finally broken free of his binding and decided to continue their conversation down here. Only this time around their discussion was more heated, and unless Sam was mistaken, and it was entirely possible that he was, this time they were throwing things too.

It seemed that Kane had finally lost his cool. He also seemed to have forgotten about Sam for the time being too, and he wasn't keen on reminding him he was still here.

He opted for in rather than out, so as delicately as he could he inched his legs back into his shelter, sitting upright and having to untangle the frayed edges that had caught somehow on the eyes of his shoes, giving his stomach an unwelcome work out as he did so. The movement was agony, but it was not so much the physical pain he objected to, but the torture that was not knowing where in the room the other two men were, how easily they would be able to reach him, whether they were looking, or whether they would even have noticed the minute rippling of his curtain through the chaos that was the rest of the room.

Finally he was in, which was an anticlimax because he had to think about getting out again.

Surreptitiously he searched for the gap in the cloth, and taking a deep breath to prepare himself for what he was to fine, Sam placed one wary eye against the chink and peered outwards.

The sight that met his eyes was quite frankly insane. He's seen some peculiar stuff in his time – he'd even been the cause of some of it – but it was several seconds before his brain caught up with his vision and could make any sense of what he was seeing. And even when it made the attempt it fell short.

One curiosity was satisfied however; Sam finally managed to catch a glimpse of the much maligned customer of Kane's. If it hadn't been for what he was trying to buy, and he was especially disapproving given it was Dean's – he liked Dean's guilt and neuroses where it was thank you – Sam would almost have felt sorry for the guy. He was only trying to carry out an 'honest' business transaction after all. It seemed that the paranoid merchant really had got him all wrong. Sam honestly didn't think he'd even considered the possibility of double crossing a man of Kane's reputation, and perhaps he really was just trying to reopen profitable avenues of business after a distant misunderstanding, but Sam's presence had messed it up for him.

Sam couldn't understand why Kane was so adamant he was being tricked. He knew who Sam was and why he was here. There was no need to continue the argument. But if what Bobby had said was true, and business men like Kane were territorial and guarded their secrets, it was likely that they were also paranoid and suspicious. That was a stable mix. And he'd thought Dean had issues.

Kane had the unmistakable air of power. Sam had felt it even back in the ally before he'd seen his face or had a demonstration of what he could do. But the second figure was not without his own aura of control. Sam couldn't place what it stemmed from, and he knew he was missing something obvious, because he didn't look like anything more than an overly well-groomed extra from an _Underworld_ movie that was approaching middle age. But there was something about his baring, in the way he held his body that told Sam he didn't want to mess with him.

Kane seemed to sense it too.

In fact now he was observing he could tell Kane seemed intent on avoiding confrontation, but his natural arrogance and atmosphere of superiority was making it impossible for the other to back down. He was so angry he seemed to have reverted to his own language, some kind of Eastern European that Sam couldn't follow, but Kane clearly could. But his actions were easy to interpret. He was smashing everything in sight.

This guy had brought gloves. Black leather driving gloves that were beginning to corrode slightly and were stained yellow in patches, but they allowed him to do what Sam could not. He felt no concern lifting anything from the tables in front of him, and everything he did he threw at Kane, cursing wildly as he did so.

There was some force behind each throw, and an alarming degree of accuracy, but Kane was able to block the majority, or his unearthly speed allowed him to avoid them, and the look of smugness as he did so just sent the next projectile off with more force.

Occasionally one hit him, and in the split second after a blow Kane seemed to lose his calm and recognise what was going on. He might have had numerous other warehouses, but this one was being trashed, and he would not let the perpetrator go unpunished. That would be bad for business.

A wave of his hand and the other figure would go flying across the room, the same invisible jolt of power that had sent Sam careening into a wall earlier that night.

Every so often Kane's calm demeanour would become so exasperating that his opponent would simply charge. Even if he had no clear line of attack he had a frightening speed and dexterity of his own and was soon up and over the barriers. But Kane would merely sigh and clap his hands and the room would change, and he would lose his balance or go sailing into something solid and give in.

And then the whole thing would start up again.

Sam wasn't sure how long he'd watched in fascination. It was a miracle these guys weren't running out of things to throw.

Well, Sam had wanted some kind of distraction. They didn't come much bigger than this. Now all he had to do was find the artefact he needed and get the hell out of here.

The litter of mystical debris covered everything. He had been holding it in his hands, but how many times had the room rearranged itself since he had dropped it? How was it possible he had remained hidden for as long as he had, when at any moment the curtain he was clinging to could shift, leaving him exposed?

Before Kane had disturbed him he'd had a mammoth task ahead of him searching every inch of this room, but he had at least been able to keep track of where he still had left to trek. Now the objects were flying about and the room changing so frequently that being the only still thing in the room was beginning to make Sam dizzy.

Which is when he realised – he was still. He was an oasis of calm. However Kane was manipulating the room his small section of it was remaining stationary. Whether his presence in the anti chamber was preventing it from moving or this was some design of Kane's he didn't know, but it filled him with the flutterings of hope. The first real ones he'd felt all night. He'd had the device in his hand when he'd fallen. If it had landed close enough to him to remain in his little stasis bubble… If Kane hadn't stopped to pick it up before turning to face his interruption… It was possible it lay waiting for Sam mere meters away. Could he be that lucky?

He got an answer of sorts.

Eyes darting with a newfound purpose he scanned the floor in the surrounding area.

There! Peaking half in half out of the folds of the curtain, the tell tale black edge. Even if he hadn't seen it Sam would have felt it. It was still giving off the same vibrations as before, although if possible the sensation was worryingly even stronger.

He would have to edge out of his hidey-hole to reach it, and he looked up to check that the cost was clear just in time to see Kane wave his hand again, sending he other figure careening backwards – straight in Sam's direction.

He simply watched, too stupefied to move as the other man careened towards him, colliding with his curtain about a meter to the left of where Sam sat. Luckily he was too far away from the curtain's seam to fall through it, he merely used the sheet as a wall to block his backwards momentum and it billowed out and around him, almost trapping him in its folds, covering him completely so that Sam was still blocked from his view.

However the falling man had taken a lot of the material with him, opening the gap between the velvet folds wide open, leaving Sam momentarily sat behind nothing.

He caught Kane's eye in an instant, and for an eternity the two merely stared at each other in silence, Sam too shaken to move, and Kane influenced by yet another of his unpredictable mood shifts. He seemed to be almost worried, his eyes darting anxiously between the figure struggling to free himself and Sam. And Sam's stasis and Kane's willingness to continue the argument made something close to sense. Kane didn't want him seen. For some reason he didn't want his guest to know Sam was here.

The man freed himself and the wall of fabric fell back into place, and Kane gave him the briefest of nods before Sam was fully concealed behind it once more. Acknowledgement that his thoughts had been correct, that he needed to remain hidden, and something awfully like permission to do what Kane must surely realise Sam was going to use this distraction to do.

As soon as the second figure was clear Kane moved the room again, sealing his access to Sam, and whether intentionally or not, and Sam doubted anything down here would be done unintentionally, bringing the artefact containing Dean's essence to rest directly in front of him.

He was unnerved by Kane's motives, because he still couldn't figure out what they were, but he wouldn't waste time deciphering them now. He wouldn't even waste the time it would take to look at his watch to remind himself that Dean's life was hanging in the balance, and every second Sam wasted was another he forced Dean to endure of his torment.

Sam quickly ripped his jacket off, using it to sweep the cause of all this hassle towards him and rap it up so it could be safely carried. He could feel the strength of it humming beneath his trembling fingers, but the unease and worry he felt when he picked it up was all his own.

Looking outwards once more Sam saw that his hunch had been correct. For whatever reason Kane had left the route between himself and the staircase relatively clear, although making it the distance without touching or being struck by any of the discarded or flying objects could prove to be a chore.

But he wouldn't know until he tried.

Keeping as low as he could while holding his jacket tucked under one arm and his wounded stomach with the other, Sam moved steadily to the exit, keeping to his feet rather than his knees to allow himself a more speedy retreat if required. Crouching would give him more chance of remaining hidden, but he knew from experience the time and effort it took to make the transition between crouching and standing, and if the effort was required the time would probably not be allowed.

He was listening carefully to the chaos around him as he moved, and he soon learnt to sense when the best times to freeze or drop would be. To anticipate that slight instant of calm before the room would change positions again. He occasionally had to make a brief detour but the route to freedom remained surprisingly open, and Sam noticed that more than one of his brief changes of direction seemed to actually have been designed to take him further away from Kane's opponent, not the door.

What was the story there? If Kane wanted to keep the two of them apart, actually felt some strange degree of protectiveness towards Sam, Sam wasn't sure he even wanted to contemplate the source of the power he felt the other man had. He got the impression he had tried Kane's patience beyond endurance however, and as the lesser of two evils Kane would rather Sam get some use out of the artefact than this person, because unless this was resolved quickly it would be too late to line up a new buyer anyway.

Making it to the edge of the room took time Dean shouldn't have had to allow him, but it was surprisingly hassle free. It was only when Sam stepped off the earth floor and put his full weight on the bottom stair that he remembered how much they creaked.

The sound was ridiculously loud because it was so unexpected, and because it didn't fit with the rest of the noise in the room it somehow stood out above the racket, despite the fact by rights it should have gone unnoticed.

Perhaps he should have thrown out all pretence at stealth and merely bolted for the doorway, but instead Sam found himself turning to face the room with the expression of a guilty toddler that had just been caught somewhere it shouldn't have been. Sam was aware that it was insane, but he couldn't help the slight glimmer of apology in his eyes when he glanced at Kane. This man might have been evil, but for whatever reason he had also been trying to keep Sam alive and undetected, and had given him back what he had taken from Dean. He felt like he'd betrayed that trust somehow. Let him down.

But then Sam's eyes came to rest on the second set that was staring at him, with anger and a hunger beyond endurance, and Sam's heart sank. He realised now why Kane had been trying to keep the two of them apart, and it made him feel strangely violated rather than protected. One look at those eyes, at the teeth protruding from beneath that man's smile, and the source of his power was all too obvious.

He was a vampire.

And he was staring at Sam as though he offered relief from a thousand year famine. With a smile that rivalled Kane's he gave one overly dramatic inhale, and Sam could practically feel the force of it wafting his scent towards him, allowing him to absorb the every nuance that was Sam.

"Remember" Kane rumbled threateningly, "Our deal still stands." And he raised his hand and gave it one final flick.

Sam had expected it to be the vampire that was hit, so the force of it took him completely by surprise, lifted him off his feet, and literally threw him up the stairs. A bookcase followed him, coming to rest jammed in the broken doorway, taking the place of the missing door and effectively muffling the sound of the scream of fury that had been close behind. Not only had Kane allowed Sam to escape, but he'd allowed him to take the artefact with him, and the vampire was not at all happy about either one of these facts. Sam could hear the violence breaking out beneath him with renewed vigour, and the whole cabin seemed to shake with the force of it. If they weren't careful they were going to bring it down on themselves.

Sam spared one stupid moment pondering if he should stay and help. Wondering whether the pair were equally matched and this really was just an elaborate pissing contest, or whether one of them was actually going to win. A vampire against a human… even one with a slight head start like Kane… but there must be a hundred things down there that Kane could use to his advantage.

And then he realised what exactly he was thinking about helping, and the fact he would be at best a prisoner again if he succeeded, so instead he picked up the cloth and his jacket that had come to rest beside him, and hobbled painfully to his feet.

He exited the cabin through the front door. It was still brightly lit and almost blinding, and it took Sam a moment to adjust to a world that wasn't red.

He could still hear the sound of the battle raging behind him and he took off at the fastest spring he could manage. He stuck to the road this time. It would have cut some distance off his journey had he cut through the trees, but he still had the fear that if he rejoined the main road at an unspecified point he wouldn't know whether he had to move forwards or backwards to get back to the car.

It was still raining heavily and within minutes he was thoroughly soaked. The thick winter jacket in his arms was wet, and the weight of it was beginning to drag him down, but he knew the burden of it was far beyond the physical.

Truth be told he had never really expected that he would get it back. He had no idea what to do with it now he had. Kane had said something about needing the correct words. He hoped Ash had been able to find them, because Sam had not had the time to spare them a thought. There was also the matter of 'blood' to take into consideration. From Kane's words it didn't sound like Sam needed any equipment or special ingredients, and if he had it was probably too much to ask that Kane send those barraging up the stairs with him.

No. Sam was completely reliant on Ash now, and he hoped he had figured something out. He hated how helpless and out of control that made him feel. He had had no control over this entire adventure, merely been tossed about by the needs and emotions of others. It was time someone took his needs into consideration now. It was time for Dean to wake up. Sam had gone through so much already to get to this point. To fail at this final hurdle, to have him survive all that and still end up alone…

It was fear and failure on a level that Dean alone would be able to appreciate.

TBC

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For the record – I believe Dean's overriding emotion when Sam woke was a mixture of delirious relief, happiness and gratitude that I would never be able to put into words. The cycle he is trapped in now is filtering those emotions out however, highlighting the seeds of doubt and fear that he may not have even realised that he felt at the time. But the happiness he felt was so strong Kane's device couldn't block it all away, although it does use his desire to wake Sam as another source of guilt. The negative emotions he is now experiencing, and all of the thoughts _are_ his, but are being magnified so they are now the only part of the story he sees.

Don't worry, they've been separated far longer than even I was beginning to have patience with, so next time will see a return to on site brotherly fretting. Oh, and the puppy.

Disclaimer: Same as before. I know I didn't put one on the last chapter, so I would like to take this opportunity to reassure people that one wasn't in any way sanctioned by anyone official.


	5. Chapter 5

**Restoring the Balance**

**By Floralia**

DISCLAIMER: Supernatural and the Winchesters belong to CW. The story is mine. The coffee Dean is drinking is unfortunately not a work of fiction but the stuff available in the office where I am temping. I don't even drink coffee normally, so just take a moment to lament with me the condition of the tea…

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"_You don't find it worrying? Black coffee from machine has layer of that foam scum on the top. I mean. It's not posing as milk. What's it supposed to be?" Sam was staring at the cup of strong black coffee that one of the nurses had brought in for Dean. The machine in the corridor outside was well beyond the limit of where he felt able to wander._

"_You're just jealous because you're not allowed any." Dean teased, taking a purposeful swig, but the attempt at banter fell short when he failed to hide the grimace the drink caused him. Man that stuff was nasty. He knew exactly what Sam meant, but on the scale of things he was worrying about right now the quality of the coffee did not rank overly high._

"_I'm pretty sure I shouldn't… actually be able to hear… the foam fizzing." He was eyeing the cup suspiciously, as though he expected it to launch itself at him without warning._

_Now that Sam had pointed out the noise it was incredibly annoying, breaking the silence between them that they didn't seem able to fill. Dean had talked almost none stop to Sam for close to 32 hours but now, when he was actually awake, he could think of nothing at all to say. His head was too crowded to be able to find anything that could possibly express the thoughts it held. There was nothing Dean could say that would erase the last few days, that could take his brother's pain away. That could express how sorry he was that it was Sam lingering there and not him, to list the numerous ways in which he'd failed. And it seemed hypocritical to even try. So he said close to nothing._

_Or he babbled like a deranged children's toy with a broken voice box. Endlessly and about nothing. He caught himself doing it and he hated it, but he couldn't seem to shut himself down. It reminded him of a singling bottle opener he'd once owned that Sam had accidentally knocked behind a cabinet out of reach. That sucker had played for hours because they couldn't get at it to turn it off. They'd just had to wait until the batteries ran out, and that's exactly what Sam did now, every time Dean when off on one of his rambles. Sat patiently until he wore himself out and the silence resumed._

_Or he drifted off to sleep, and when he woke Dean was silent again. That was like the instant reset button. Sam would open his eyes and Dean would be in the exact same position as he had been the last time, waiting for the cycle to begin again, telling himself that this time it would be different. This time Sam would be his again, would feel real. But he knew that it wouldn't. Knew that the time he had just spent watching Sam sleep was the closest to him he would get._

_It wasn't that Sam awake was cold or distant. He made the effort, but that was what it was. An effort. And it wasn't just because Sam was tired beyond endurance. That, combined with the strong pain medication he was taking, meant he was rarely awake for long anyway, but when he was it was an effort to find anything to say. Something that would sound natural. The banter that had once been so easy, something Dean only ever stopped to contemplate when it was absent, was suddenly unreasonably hard. But still Sam tried to reach for it. Tried to act like everything was normal between them. Like nothing had changed. And they both knew it had. Sam may have had a limited degree of awareness, but Dean knew he felt it. He wouldn't have been trying so hard had he not. He wouldn't be exhausting himself with this pretence for Dean's benefit._

_Dean knew it was a pretence. He caught the glances Sam threw at him. The brief questioning frowns. The momentary lapses into that same frightening uncertainty that had plagued him on waking. But at least Sam never mentioned it, because Dean didn't think he could live if he heard Sam voice his mistrust or his accusations out loud. He didn't need Sam to tell him he had failed. Dean was all too painfully aware, had come to that realisation all by himself._

_Sam had yet to regain any of his colour, and it had been three days since he had given Dean's hand that first tentative squeeze. He still drifted in and out of awareness without warning. Was still to weak to even raise his head above his pillow, and his voice was so low, still slurred at times with medication and fatigue that Dean had to strain to hear him. So he didn't need the words. He didn't need to do anything but sit in this room to know how much he had failed Sam. The evidence of his failure was lying right in front of him, struggling with the effort of a reassuring smile, but that simple act was too much, and Dean didn't think he would ever again possess the strength necessary for it to reach his eyes._

_It had been three days, and already Dean didn't think he could remember what Sam's eyes looked like when they were clear. When they didn't contain the haze of drugs or pain, that agonising anxiety. Almost couldn't imagine what it would be like to see their light._

_But Sam was still here. He was back, and now even the doctors were admitting that this time he was here to stay. But there were times when Dean would look at him and wonder if Sam was not somehow disappointed that this was the case. That he had been offered a way out but had not followed up on the opportunity to leave._

"_You should go."_

"_What?!"_

"_Sorry… Blunter than in my head." He tried for a rueful smile but Dean wished he wouldn't. It was too easy to confuse with a grimace._

"_You want me to leave?" And all the stoic masks in the world would not have kept the hurt or the incredulity from reaching his voice. He hadn't left this chair except to relieve himself since the nurse had wheeled him away and he had slept through Sam's second round of surgery, and there was no reason Sam needed to know how insanely anxious and painful those brief bathroom breaks had been. Sam was his life. He may not have always been able to show it, but the brief time he'd lived in a world in which Sam was dead had revealed that all too clearly to Dean. But it Sam didn't want him… If he couldn't hover here forever, what did he do? Who would he be?_

"_No!" Sam looked suddenly confused and Dean knew he was finding this conversation increasingly difficult to follow. That only proved how much he was needed here. How could Sam keep himself safe if he couldn't even understand a conversation he himself had initiated? "Well… yes. Just for while. Change scenes. You need…" But it seemed Sam couldn't express what Dean needed. Dean didn't think he could either. He needed to be here. He needed Sam to be strong enough to form complete sentences. To breathe without the effort of it hurting so badly he needed to be medicated. To stop looking at him with those suddenly blank and unreadable eyes. But most of all he needed Sam. Needed to not have to hear that Sam didn't want to need Dean._

"_Find a motel. Sleep. In a bed. Eat something. Possibly shower. Please."_

"_But I…"_

"_Please." Sam would not be dissuaded, and he was beginning to get upset. Dean knew it frustrated him that he couldn't always express what he was trying to say, but Dean was glad of it. Sam wanted Dean gone because he didn't trust him to keep him safe anymore, and Sam's insistence was painful for both of them. But on some levels Dean welcomed the pain. Had made a promise that he would always take it on himself if it spared Sam. And this was his first test. Could he do it? Could he save Sam the agony of fighting him on this; the pain getting himself more worked up would cause. When he could just give Sam what he wanted and let him find some peace. The pain of leaving Sam alone in this hospital would be unbearable. It was possible Dean would not live through it. Who would protect Sam then? Who would save him?_

"_Just one night." The faintest whisper but it conveyed so much need. Even so, it was Sam's hand seeking his own, the first time he had initiated contact or had the co-ordination to do so. One faint but pleading squeeze of his hand, and those wide eyes, less soulful now but no less effective, and Dean knew he was going to give in. That he would give Sam what he wanted. That he would always give Sam what he wanted, even if it killed him, because to be the thing standing in the way of Sam and the light that had left him was not worth being alive._

"_Okay." He didn't know if Sam heard the fear and hurt in his voice. He hoped not. He didn't want to believe that Sam would send him away if he had. "Tonight." He would leave on the pretence of sleep, not that he would get any, but there was no way he could go with no other excuse in mind._

_Sam nodded and closed his eyes, seeming to relax in the knowledge that soon he would be spared his brother's company. That hurt so badly it took Dean's breath away, but perhaps it was worth his soul dying if it caused that look of peace that had come over his little brother's face._

"_Whatever you need." He promised, stroking Sam's hair, mortified by the answering squeeze of his hand that Sam still grasped, not realising his brother was still lingering with consciousness and could hear him._

_He had promised. It was for Sam's peace of mind. He had sworn to always take on the pain and burden for the both of them, but that didn't mean it was at all easy to walk out of that room when official visiting hours came to a close. It took Sam's nurses by surprise to see him voluntarily leave. He'd passed the door to the men's restroom when he felt the dread. This was the furthest away from this new Sam that he'd ever been. It had been relatively easy to get to this spot compared to the pain that was every other step from then onwards._

_Even the familiar feel and rumble of the Impala could offer no comfort. He was driving away from Sam. It had never been an easy thing to do, and disaster usually followed. He knew that, so why was he going? Sam wanted him out of his room, that didn't necessarily mean he had to leave the hospital itself. He could pretend to sleep in the car just as easily as he could in a motel bed, and it would be cheaper too, but somehow he felt Sam would know if he had lied. Would be more disappointed in him if he didn't do as he was asked. Rest like he promised._

_There was a motel a few blocks away from the hospital. It was pricier than he was used to, but the proximity to Sam was worth every penny. If he strained his neck while peering out of the bathroom window he could even see the corner of the top floor of one of the hospital's wings from here. The ICU was on a high floor. If he didn't concentrate too hard on the hospital's orientation he could fool himself that one of the three windows he could see was Sam's._

_He had promised his brother three things. Shower, food and sleep. Well, he had promised him a whole lot more but that hadn't been out loud and Sam didn't seem to find those as important right now. Food he wouldn't be able to face, and he knew sleep would elude him. That just left the shower. That at least he could do._

_He closed his eyes and let the hot water do its best to wash his fears away. Sam was alive. Next to that nothing else mattered. They could deal with any other problem that came their way. Together. And they would be staying together, even if Dean had to keep him bound and gagged in the passenger seat of the Impala. He would do whatever if took to prove to Sam that he could be trusted. That he would never, ever do anything that would knowingly hurt him._

_The water and his own determined logic did a lot to relax him, and the bathroom was the same generic bathroom he had been in a thousand times before, and for a brief moment as he was drying himself off Dean actually let himself believe that this was one of those stays. It was only when he exited the bathroom and saw that he had subconsciously rented a room with two beds, and that one of them was horribly, painfully empty, that Dean finally began to feel again. And the force if it was overwhelming._

_He made it to the nearest bed, the one he would always think of as Sam's, before his legs gave way, crawling beneath the covers to lose himself in their warm darkness, to let the weight of them muffle his sobs. He didn't want to hear them. He didn't want to be reminded, to have to feel what they represented, but it was too late for that. Throughout everything that had happened Dean realised that he had never let his body give in to this urge. The odd stray tear had escaped him, the odd muffled sob. He had broken down in the alley but he blamed that on the concussion. He had always been able to reign his grief back in, but this empty room, this attempt at living life without Sam where he could see him or hear him or reach for him if he was needed. It was excruciating, and it finally tipped him over his emotional limit. Left him gasping and howling and alone in a motel bed, not even the one that was his, crying out every last drop of his failure like his tears were an evil that needed to be purged from him. Like maybe he would be fit for Sam to look at him again if he could scream them all out._

_He wasn't aware of falling asleep, just the sound of the phone waking him. He opened his eyes disorientated. The ringing was agony. His eyes felt huge and puffy, his nose like he had a sever cold, and there was a pressure in his head that usually only a bucket of whiskey could cause, and he wondered vaguely why he hadn't though of that sooner._

_It wasn't his cell ringing. Dean suddenly wasn't sure he even knew where that was. He'd had it in the alley but everything was hazy after that. It was coated in Sam's blood anyway. He didn't want it anywhere near him. It was the motel's phone on the nightstand that was ringing, and with a feeling of mounting dread he picked it up._

"_Mr Simons, you have a phone call from the hospital, do you want me to put them through?"_

_No-one who could say those words in that chirpy voice deserved to live._

_He hadn't told them where he was going. How could Sam possibly trust him if he'd left without telling the doctors where to find him? He hadn't known himself when he'd left, and if he'd stopped to talk it through he would never have been able to put together the courage to leave. They must have been ringing around trying to find him, which meant whatever they were about to tell him couldn't be good. It was only because he had been too drained to give the reception a new alias that the hospital had found him at all._

"_What happened?" The voice on the other end was a little taken aback by the force of his tone, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything other than the fact this woman was his only link to Sam, and he didn't want to waste time on formalities. He couldn't breathe, so he needed to hear this quickly before he passed out._

"_Well…"_

"_Please!" An insane level of urgency._

"_I think… well… Your brother, he suffered some kind of seizure."_

"_Seizure?" Sam had been fine when he'd left. That didn't make sense._

"_The nurse was with him. She said he complained of a sudden onset headache, kind of spaced out for a while, and then he started seizing."_

_Oh. Shit._

"_I'm on my way."_

"_But… I think…"_

_He'd hung up before he found out what she thought. He had to get to Sam. Having a vision in a hospital. Who knew what they would make of that medically. And he hadn't been around to provide support. To even take the brunt of the doctor's questions._

_He threw on his jeans and tore out to the car. The hospital was mere minutes away and he tried not to think about how useless he was, but it was hard to push away. Tried not to think about what Sam had seen, because he didn't know if he had the strength he would need to follow up on it. To leave Sam vulnerable and alone, even though he knew he could be condemning an innocent if he didn't. Might even pick up the trail of the elusive demon if he left. But for perhaps the first time in his life he wasn't sure if he wanted to. They were in no condition for a confrontation now._

_Sam's doctor was waiting for Dean at the admissions desk when he arrived, looking uncomfortably nervous. Dean ignored him in favour of the direction of Sam's room. The medical explanation could wait. Sam's was the only one he needed._

_Dean was aware of the doctor following him, thought he heard the call of his name but he didn't care. He took off down the hallway at a sprint, needing to see Sam too badly, to make it up to him somehow, that he felt no guilt at all being rude to the man who had saved his brother's life. Given him his purpose back._

_The curtain was drawn around Sam's bed when he got there. He was probably sleeping, or perhaps faking it to avoid having to answer any neurologist's questions. But when Dean reached out and pulled the curtain aside the sight that met his eyes was literally the end of his world._

_Sam's bed was empty. _

_And it was also red._

_His legs gave way, but the only thing to brace his fall was his brother's empty bed. His hands made contact but he lurched away. It was wet, it stained Dean's hands, and the blood was still nauseatingly warm. He crashed hard to the floor and didn't attempt to get up. Knew he would never be able to._

_Dean was suddenly aware of another presence in the room and knew the doctor had followed him in. Had been trying to spare him this sight._

"_What...?" There was no need for anything more. Dean had no more._

"_Sam had a seizure. A violent one."_

_Dean swallowed. That's what the voice on the phone had told him, but he'd assumed she meant vision. That Sam was fine. That…_

"_I don't under…"_

"_We don't know what caused it." Dean had a sickening feeling he did. "But it took a while to get the motion under control." Dean was staring in morbid fascination at his little brother's blood once again staining his hands. "The convulsions… his body took a hammering. He ripped the majority of his stitches. That's why there's so much blood. We gave him an ultrasound. It looks like there's internal bleeding too. It's likely he tore some of his internal sutures."_

"_But he's gonna be okay, right?" The question conveyed so much need Dean knew it took the doctor aback, but he didn't care. He just needed an answer._

"_He's still in surgery. We'll know more in a couple of hours… I really am very sorry, after all the two of you have already been through…"_

_Dean knew the doctor continued to talk but he couldn't take any more in. Sam was in surgery. Again. He was being cut open while Dean slept. Well, that was the last time he was doing that again. Sam could bitch all he wanted but there was no way Dean would leave his side. In fact he would be there right now, be would fight his way into that operating theatre and let Sam know what a wonderful idea his insistence Dean leave had been. If he could pick himself up off the floor that was._

_A vision. Dean didn't need Sam's confirmation to tell him that. They'd never affected him this badly before, but then he'd never had one while his body was already in such a ravaged state. Possibly the one thing that Dean would never have been able to protect Sam from, even had he been here. Dean knew that, and they continued to taunt him with that fact. But what the doctors didn't know. What kept Dean on the floor, watching the pool of his brothers blood as it dripped from the mattress above him, was the knowledge that whenever Sam had these things, he oh so very rarely only had one._

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Sam was glad he was driving carefully when he turned into the motel car park. Not glad of the reason – he had been driving so fast he had skidded dangerously on the rain slick ground on the outskirts of town, jumped the curb and nearly rapped himself around a lamp post. He'd been driving relatively slowly since then, mainly because the Impala had started to rattle and moan at him if he tried to push her any harder, as though reminding him that she at least did not want a repeat of her month in a scrap yard. She kept moving though, for which Sam was grateful. He would be more grateful if she stopped her wining before Dean got back behind the wheel. Or I he never had to realise he'd started to give the car a personal pronoun at all.

He was glad, because it might have been hard to explain his speed to the motel owner, who was lurking outside their door in the rain. Or it was possible he would have just ploughed right over him.

He was beginning to feel the strain, and as good as this man had been to them lurking outside their room at daybreak while Dean was so vulnerable and alone inside was not going to do anything for his nerves. In fact he was just about to start yelling, a release of the kind he had been denied all night, and it was possible it would be a waterfall of abuse and self loathing he would not quickly be able to close, but a joyful barking cut him short.

The puppy tore itself from its makeshift lead and literally threw itself at him, tail wagging so violently the motion started halfway down its spine and its back legs couldn't keep still.

He was scared, worried, and exhausted beyond reason, but the sight of the little dog and its enthusiastic welcome back was enough to draw out a slight smile. It seemed like so long ago, a whole different lifetime, since the dog had first kept him company on that unsuccessful stakeout.

Dawn was beginning to break, and while the sky might lighten late here at this time of year Sam was still not comfortable with why the old man was there. If the pup had wanted to go out there was no need for him to be hovering. Unless something had happened while he had been away. Unless he was waiting to tell him about Dean…

"I couldn't get him past your door." The elderly man said in explanation. "He seemed to think it was early enough to wake you, but I was trying to convince him otherwise. You're out early though." He was obviously under the impression they had got back late last night and both slept at the motel, and Sam didn't see any reason to correct him.

"Dean's feeling a little under the weather. I think he's coming down a little bit fluey. I've just been out stocking up on supplies." He lied, hoping his lack of any obvious bag would go unnoticed.

Sam had been unlocking the door while talking but he was reluctant to open it, partly because he didn't want his companion to get suspicious as to just what was wrong with Dean, and partly because Sam himself was dreading what was waiting for him.

The dog was still dancing around his ankles, jumping up to try and get the welcome it so obviously thought it deserved. Sam wanted nothing more than to give it to him, and after everything else he had put his body through tonight he couldn't begrudge it the attention, only he physically didn't think he could get down that far.

"Thanks for watching him." Sam knew what he wanted to ask, but it seemed incredibly rude given that this man had close to 40 years on him, but when he bent down to remove the makeshift collar he had been using to attempt to keep the dog under control, Sam saw his chance.

"I don't suppose… While you're down there… Could you hand him to me?" Sam put on his most pleading and innocent expression, but the motel owner had already noticed his obvious lack of manoeuvrability and thought nothing of the request.

"Sure. Here you go. Let me know if our services will be required later, we don't mind."

"Thanks."

Sam waited until he had moved away before opening the door. The dog was stationary in his arms, as though sensing Sam would drop him if he made the effort to squirm, but it seemed to feel moving its head was allowed so all its energy and enthusiasm was directed towards licking Sam's ear.

It seemed insensitive and insane, but Sam was actually laughing as he crossed the threshold, but it died in his throat in an instant.

The jacket under his other arm was vibrating even more strongly now it was in the same room as its host, and Sam shuffled over to drop it on the table before turning his attention to his brother in the bed, glad beyond belief that he had the dog to cling to as he did so. That there was something healthy and alive to give him support.

"Oh, God…."

Dean had been beginning to get feverish when he had left, but this was a whole different story. The bed was soaked. It literally looked like someone had thrown several buckets of water onto his brother while he slept.

Still hugging the dog, pressing his face into its warm neck to keep down the fear and nausea, Sam ripped the soaking covers from his brother's body, wincing at how they stuck to him, and the moan he got as his response.

The heat Dean was giving off was astounding. He didn't need a thermometer to tell him it was too high, and he didn't want the exact figure because he needed to be able to function.

The dog wined as it took in the sight and struggled slightly to get onto the bed, and Sam let it. It had been Dean's argument that they keep the thing around for his calming properties after all. Under normal circumstances he would have thrown Dean in a cold bath, anything to try and get his body temperature under control, but he didn't have the time and he needed to concentrate on the cause not the symptoms.

The puppy sniffed at Dean, seemed to be watching him questioningly. "Okay, but don't climb on him." Sam scolded gently, moving it off his brother's chest, and when it had settled down stretched out along Dean's side Sam thought it safe to leave them.

He didn't want to. He wanted to hover over Dean and at least attempt some comfort, to repay his brother for all the time he had spent in the same position, but nothing could have been less helpful, and it looked like he had missed the worst of it.

Dean was deathly still. Sam could barely see the rise and fall of his chest but he knew he was breathing. He was surprised the whole state didn't know from the sickening wet rasping sound that went along with it. His pulse was weak and erratic, and despite his fever Dean's skin was not flushed, but pale wouldn't have covered it either. Dean was grey. He literally looked dead, and Sam found himself grateful for the horrific strain of his brother's breath because it reassured him otherwise. Continued to reassure him even when Dean was no longer in sight or within his reach as he busied himself unwrapping the artefact and setting it out on the motel table, collecting the few things Ash had said he needed.

He'd called Ash on the journey back – perhaps he wouldn't have lost control of the car if he'd had both hands and his focus on the wheel, but he knew he would have to multi-task now it Dean was to survive. Seven hours. Under normal circumstances it seemed like such a long time, but tonight most of it had passed him by without him being able to account for it. His calculations had been rough at best, and he was fast approaching his deadline.

He swallowed nervously. That word would never have the same meaning again.

Talking to Ash had been close to reassuring. Sam almost felt bad for doubting he would deliver, but knowing what was at stake he didn't think anyone would begrudge him his worry. The reversal did seem to be relatively straight forwards if it was done in time, but noting how ridiculously still Dean had fallen Sam began to doubt his own calculations.

Dean had been pretty active at some point, that had been obvious from the abuse the bedcovers had taken, having been thrashed almost clean off the bed. But he was long past having the energy to do that now, or to even whisper his thoughts. Sam hoped his wild thrashing had not been accompanied by the same level of screaming they had back in the alley, but then surely the motel man would have said something if they had. Sam was relieved that Dean had been able to relive his nightmares in relative quiet, because if he'd roused someone enough for them to break in and help him, Dean would have been rushed to a hospital on sight. And Sam would have returned to an empty room, and by the time they had found each other again it would have been beyond too late.

Ash had been able to cobble together some words for Sam to say based on other rituals and emotion transferring incantations he had been able to drag up, adapting them the best he could, and even providing them in all of the languages he could manage from the selection given. Sam was glad he'd left the computer running. He thought he'd go mad in the two minutes it would have needed to reboot.

He didn't know about Dean, but Sam felt the loss of the music when he finally shut it off.

Okay, he had the cloth, and he had the email open at the words. That just left the blood. And that was where they could run into a potential problem. Because the blood he used had to be Dean's. Had to indicate where he wanted to emotional mix to go. It was for his own good, but it would be hard to slice into Dean while he slept. Add some physical to his mental torment.

Ash had been very adamant about the blood. The danger warnings had applied partly to the timeframe, and partly to the quantity of blood. More was better. _"Don't think you're doing him any favours by limiting the amount you take. The blood it the link. If you're cutting it close time wise the emotional link will probable be weaker, preparing to be severed. The blood is needed."_

It made sense, in a sick way. Sam was beginning to barely remember a time when that fact would not have made sense. Those four years of not having to understand how evil operated would have seemed like a distant dream if it wasn't for the fact Sam knew he never had dreams that were that good.

Ash had also been incredibly strict on the fact the blood must be all Deans. Cross contaminate and there was a chance it just wouldn't work, or that the soul would somehow split itself between the various targets. Sam really hadn't had the heart to tell him he was keeping the material rapped in his jacket, bloodstained from the knife wound in the side Kane had given him hours ago. It was only a shallow cut, and had stopped bleeding relatively quickly, but then he had continued to pull on it for the next six and a half hours. He'd tried not to focus on it, but he knew at several points during the night it had started up again. It was a miracle the vampire hadn't been able to smell him, not just his incredibly filthy and sweat stained body, or his fear, but his blood. It must have been really angry with Kane if its focus had been that tunnelled.

He brought a lamp over to the desk and switched it on, studying the surface of the device carefully, trying to ignore what he was looking at or the time it was taking, how draining it was to even be around. The humming was growing louder, and Sam couldn't tell if it was an actual sound or only in his head, but his mind ached and it was growing hard to concentrate again.

Well there were no obvious enormous blood stains on the surface, although red on black they wouldn't show up glaringly well. He would just have to go for it and hope for the best. If he woke up in the morning with Dean living in his head then he'd know he'd missed a spot.

He took the cloth and laid it as his brother's side, patting the dog as it huddled closer to Dean for protection, eyeing it uncertainly. The next time Sam returned to his brother's bedside he was carrying a knife, and the mental image of it, hovering over Dean's sleeping form with a blade he intended to use on him was momentarily sickening. Dean had done nothing but take care of him for weeks, and as soon as the situation was reversed Sam had to attack him with a knife and drain his blood. It didn't matter that it was the only way to save him, Sam's body still rebelled. It had sounded so clinical and logical in the car, but Dean looked so feeble right now Sam wasn't sure he wanted to touch him in case he pushed him away. Wasn't sure how much blood his already drained body and thready pulse could stand to lose.

The dog seemed to be watching the knife in Sam's hand with trepidation and he spoke to it comfortingly instead of speaking to Dean. It seemed wrong somehow to offer him reassurances at the same time as cutting into his skin, so he offered them to the puppy instead. It was a good job it trusted him because this was pushing the boundaries of its trust. Sam knew that if their positions had been reversed it would not have let Dean anywhere near him with that knife. It even offered him a warning growl, which hurt more than Sam expected. He didn't think there was room left for a new kind of hurt, but the gentle way he petted him, the care with which he raised his brother's arm, his own obvious uncertainty about this action somehow seemed to reassure it he wasn't going to start hacking away any time soon.

Sam wasted several seconds he didn't have wondering where to place the knife for the best, but the more he pictured the different possible ways to cut the sicker he got so instead he opted to not think about it at all. He just picked up his brother's warm clammy hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze and moaned an apology, neither of which elicited any kind of a response, then brought the knife neatly and quickly across his brother's palm.

That got a reaction, and as horrific as it might have been it was somehow reassuring to know that Dean still had it in him to protest. He let out a frightened murmur of pain the likes of which Sam had never heard him make, and he knew that it was only because Dean had no control over his own mind or vocal cords that he would be making it now. He also attempted to feebly bat Sam away, to remove his bleeding hand from his brother's grasp, but even Sam had more strength than Dean had right now and he kept a firm hold, hating himself the whole time that he did so for not allowing Dean even the slight semblance of comfort pushing him away might achieve. But Sam needed to be here. He needed Dean's blood. He watched as it fell on the cloth he had placed ready and waiting beneath Dean's now dripping hand, trying to make sure the blood covered every symbol, because he had no idea which ones in particular had targeted his brother. Knowing Dean he had been keen to try them all.

He tried desperately not to water down the blood with his own tears, there was no telling what kind of affect that might have, so he cried perfectly silently into his own arm while gently holding out his brother's, refusing to even rock the bed with his guilt because he would not hurt Dean any more than he already had.

Dean's colour was becoming more alarming, his heart rate even weaker, and the surface of the device was thoroughly red. Sam could no longer read the markings through the layer of his brother's blood. Ash had said more was better, and he didn't think it would hold much more, or that Dean could give it, so he placed Dean's hand palm down onto its surface, hating again that he was the one that had to put his brother through it, because he knew from experience what the force of all of Dean's emotions felt like, and he knew he had only felt them to a tiny degree of how powerful they must be for Dean, who could make sense of them.

Den protested feebly again but he didn't move his hand away. Sam doubted he was strong enough to break the contact. It had taken the external interference of Kane to pull him away, so he expected Dean would be struck there until he removed him. That was even more incentive to work fast.

One last reassuring pat, an inadequate echo of the one Dean had delivered nightly, and Sam was able to tear himself away from the bed, giving a pat to the dog that had decided to provide its own form of comfort by licking Dean's neck, something Sam would be sure not to inform him of when he woke.

The words were something of an anticlimax, and Sam honestly wasn't sure he even knew what they meant. None of the symbols had been in English, so Ash obviously hadn't thought an English translation was important. But he had provided everything else phonetically so it didn't matter that Sam had never taken the time to learn Sumerian or Japanese. He didn't need to know what the words meant, just that they worked. And he would know that soon enough.

Ash had told him to repeat the ritual three times, and the words became increasingly difficult to say as Dean's level of distress grew. He was glad that he was sat at the computer because he would never have been able to hear Dean's whimpers and stand, but he wished he'd thought to take the laptop over to the bed too. It was called a laptop after all, it didn't need to remain on the table, and from here he couldn't reach out and pretend to himself that providing contact with Dean would do any good. But he couldn't break the flow of words now he had started, doing his best to shut out the sound. He didn't know anyway if having physical contact with Dean while the transferral was taking place would effect him in any way, so it was perhaps better that he was out of temptation's way. He just hoped Dean's conviction that the dog had no effect on the process whatsoever proved to be founded, because otherwise things could get weird. Er.

By the end of the second read-through the black smoke was back, and it hovered in a localised area around his brother's head, but at least it reassured Sam his actions could possibly be doing something other than torturing Dean further.

By the end of the final reading the smoke was gone, and Sam could only hope the device was done too. It was still vibrating slightly, he could still feel that there was some of Dean in there, but either it was getting fainter or his grip on awareness was starting to fade. Sam knew the later was true, so he just had to prey they both were correct.

It had been feeding of Dean for close to seven hours. While they had no instruction manual to follow, neither Sam nor Ash had expected it all to leak back into Dean in a single rush. The force of it if it had would probably kill him, so the slow drain was necessary. Ash had been unsure how long it would take for Dean to wake, requesting a phone call when he did so, but if Dean was remembering a specific set of events it was possible he would need to see them through to completion.

Once the black smoke had done its work Dean didn't have to remain in contact with the device for it to continue draining him, so Sam felt safe removing it from him now, taking some comfort in the way he seemed to relax when the contact was broken, trying to convince himself that was not something that would have happened anyway.

He put the device back on the table out of the reach of prying paws. He would destroy it later, but only when he was sure every ounce of Dean was out of it. And after that they would have a chat about Dean's current level of neurosis. He had ignored it for far to long, assuming it would fade the more his strength returned, but clearly he had been wrong. And he had underestimated the strength of it. Not that he would ever tell Dean that he had caught a glimpse of it. He would take that to his grave, or perhaps bury it deep under his own festering pile of guilt and confusion and hope it didn't come back to haunt them later.

Sam stood from his place at the computer and the head rush nearly floored him, but there was one more important thing he had to do before he let the adrenaline crash take him out of commission for good.

He staggered over to the bags searching for their first aid kit, cursing that everything had been kept on the floor because it seemed further away than it had even half an hour ago. But this was one last necessary act before he could give in to the sleep that was calling to him.

Getting down was relatively easy. That's what gravity was for. The second he was down the dog was off the bed and on his knee, seeming to think this would be the only reason Sam would be down here. Sam indulged it for a moment but it turned out Dean was correct, and with every stroke of its fur Sam felt a little of his tension leaving him, and his tension was the only thing keeping him awake and semi-upright.

He threw the newly found first aid kit onto the table and scooped up the dog, tucking it under one arm while he used the table to leaver himself up in an incredibly lengthy and painful heave that almost caused the table and all its contents to join Sam on the floor. That was the final time he would be doing that. There would be no more crouching, bending or lifting ever again, because Sam figured that was how long it would take for the memory of the pain to fade.

After he had carefully re-covered his brother with the fresh duvet that was his own, Sam the dog and the first aid kit joined Dean on the bed. It was only really the cut Sam had inflicted that needed seeing to, hopefully everything else was mystical rather than physical and Dean's weakness and fever would fade in time with the reversal. Sam had tried to keep the cut shallow. It wouldn't need stitches, and if it had there was no way he could have done them now. His vision was dancing again and it was all he could do to clean and bandage the wound without the sight of the blood, and the knowledge he had caused it, making him vomit all over his brother.

"Not exactly what you need right now." he whispered fondly.

Dean sighed deeply and seemingly contentedly, and it caused the last of Sam's resolve to collapse. "I need you to wake up now." he whispered brokenly, tracing his fingers across his brother's face in a way he knew must have been a mirror of Dean's own actions. He hated that it was true, but if the way the motel room was swinging wildly out of control was anything to go by, the sudden crashing wave of pain or how desperately hard it now was to breath, then Sam really did need Dean to wake. There was nothing more he could do for either of them now that required being conscious for any longer. He'd known this was coming. He'd been fighting it all night, and somehow the knowledge he was Dean's only hope and some freak adrenaline wave had kept him on his feet and functioning for this long. But it was over now. He had done all that he could and the rest was up to Dean now.

It was not the most ideal of welcome homes, to have endured so much only to be forced back into control once more. That would do nothing to ease any of his fears, and Sam wanted nothing more than to be awake and waiting for him when Dean opened his eyes. He knew what a comfort that could be. But there was nothing Sam could do about it now.

"It's not your fault." He whispered, even as the effort of those words caused his body to give in, sending him crashing beside his brother on the bed. He had been going to at least drag himself over to his own bed, give Dean some space to recuperate in peace, but that really was beyond him now. He wished so badly that he could be stronger for Dean, that he could give him at least some time to focus on himself before resuming his role as the big brother again, but he was too useless to even allow him that.

With one last apology Sam sank down to wait, finally giving in to something far beyond sleep.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Restoring the Balance**

**By Floralia**

SUMMARY: The brothers struggle to restore their equilibrium after Sam is injured on a hunt, but obviously something supernatural gets in the way.

DISCLAIMER: still not mine.

Now that ridiculously long sub-plot (or some might say 'actual plot') is out of the way, I'm going to return to the story I was actually trying to tell. I was always more interested in showing the effect of Sam being hurt on the way the brothers interacted and how they would adapt. That while Sam might be the physically weaker of the two he was a lot more emotionally stable (probably because he had Dean), and while Dean's focus is fixed so intently on Sam he ends up being the liability that gets them into trouble on a hunt and forces them to deal with issues. It was supposed to pretty much be that short, but I got a bit carried away. Oh well, that can't be helped now.

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_Dean had been absent the last time Sam was in surgery, and it was a surprise to him to now learn that the guilt of that was nothing compared to the horror that was actually being here. Of sitting in this sterile waiting room and knowing that there was still absolutely nothing you could do to change the outcome that would greet you. The expression that would fill the doctor's face when the door finally opened._

_The last day he had spent with Sam, and Dean tried everything he could to push away the belief that it had been just that, had been such a day of nothing. Besides Sam's insistence that he leave Dean could think of absolutely nothing either had said or done. He needed something to cling onto but found all he had again was so much wasted time. Hours of nothing. He had become too complacent. He had begun to take for granted that he had Sam back so no longer felt pressured to confide, to keep any of the promises he had made. He had not kept his side of the barging and now he was paying the price. Or perhaps Sam was. Giving too much to ease a debt he had never asked for. Again._

_The doctor's expression was unreadable when he finally emerged, a stoic mask the likes of which Dean would have been proud of, so he was forced to wait a few seconds longer to be told who he was. The whole length of the room._

_He was still a brother, but there were so many 'buts' he lost track of them. He tried to cling to the sliver of hope in the man's words, to the light that was Sam still lingering with him, but that's all he was doing now._

_The surgeons had managed to get the bleeding under control, had finally re-stitched his torn and ravaged skin, but he had lost so much blood, been pushed so far, that his heart rate and blood pressure were barely registering. And those lungs that Dean had loved so much had finally grown bored with continuing their effort when nothing else would. They had finally put Sam on a ventilator, and if they removed it he would die. Soon._

_The number of negative words he had heard these doctors use while describing his brother was already long beyond comprehension, but until today it had not included 'oxygen deprived', or 'coma'. It was strange but Dean found it was that last one that scared him the most. Sam had merely been unconscious before. His was the beginning of something else entirely._

_It was a long wait before Dean was able to see him. Long in time anyway, but it was so full of questions and explanations and a lengthy description of what he was about to see, the machinery and monitors that were being used to keep Sam alive, that the time was more full than Dean could handle. They were words that he had never wanted to hear, but they would be with him now forever, and there was one brief, terrible moment where he fantasised about how easy it would be to walk away. To leave this hospital right now and never have to face what was waiting for him behind those doors. Never scar his eyes or his mind with that vision of Sam, not while he could still conjure the image of a gurgling baby sitting on a shag pile motel carpet. But it was the same baby his father had handed to him all those years ago. The same life he had sworn to protect, and he would not walk out on it now. Besides, he had absolutely nowhere else to go._

_The doctor had escorted him to Sam's door, had supported him this far, but would leave him to take the most painful step alone. Dean closed his eyes, his hand hovering on the door that separated him from Sam, palm flat, as though trying the send or receive courage within. To communicate somehow with Sam. To prepare himself for the nightmare that was in store._

_Then, after the longest, deepest breath he had ever taken, a mockery of Sam, he pushed the door open and stepped inside._

Pale skin. White and soft, dark brown hair invading its edges. That was the first sight that greeted Dean when he opened his eyes. His little brother's forehead. He took a moment to just study it, he already knew it by heart but he would never tire of looking at it, before he allowed his eyes to wander downwards, taking in the whole of his face.

Skin too pale and thin, gaunter than he remembered it, but defiantly Sam. Eyes closed and red-rimmed, ringed with dark circles, combining to provide an alarming band of colour. His breathing was deep and even peaceful, and it hit Dean where he lay, was perhaps even the action that had woken him, hot and sweet. But he wouldn't move. Wouldn't not feel it for the world.

He allowed his eyes to continue to roam. Motel room. Daylight. He was in bed, and Sam was asleep on the covers beside him. Filling the gap on the bed between their bodies was a second snuffling sleeping form, curled up with its back against Sam's middle, paws pressed against Dean's side. He wasn't sure quite what was going on, why he was here, and why his bed should suddenly be home to this bizarre ménage au trois, but he didn't care. It didn't matter, because this was exactly where he wanted to be. Cosy and warm and watching his brother, close and peaceful and directly within his line of sight.

Although he'd be happier if Sam's eyes were open. He liked Sam better with his eyes open these days. Once upon a time it had been the other way around. Once a sleeping Sam had been much cuter and more restful than a waking Sam, because awake had meant hungry and crying, but sleeping now came with a whole new fear. That what if this time he didn't wake.

Nine days. That was how long he had waited the last time. Nine days of not knowing if he would be leaving the hospital alone. For the doctors and Sam waking up had been the beginning of the story. Of being weaned off the ventilator and learning to breathe again. Of rounds of medication and physiotherapy and not being dragged down by your own fragility and depression. But for Dean it was the end. All the indecision and lack of purpose ended the instant Sammy opened his eyes and the rest was just another battle they had to face, one they continued to face, together.

And all because of a vision.

His body had been on the mend until his mind had interfered. Sam had not had one since but Dean wasn't naive, he knew it would merely be a matter of time, but the thought of it paralysed him with dread. He had attributed the seizure that had followed to Sam's physical weakness at the time, perhaps even the medication he was taking. He didn't want to believe that it was another development of Sam's abilities, but he didn't want to be unprepared and ever have to find out that had been the case. He knew that the next vision he witnessed would be the worst form of torture, because he didn't know if Sam would even come out of it.

When they were able to help, when they got there in time and the visions made a difference, then they were almost worth while, but that last one had benefited no-one.

Dean sighed, suddenly needing contact, brushing a stray clump of fringe from Sam's eyes that had been obstructing Dean's view. He was surprised to find his hand ached, and that it was bandaged, but he also found that it didn't matter right now.

"What did you see?" he whispered, but he was long past the point of expecting an answer. They had only discussed it once, and Dean couldn't bear to dwell on it further, despite the fact that was all he did. Sam had these visions and there was nothing he could do to relieve him of that burden. He saw how badly they affected him, how much they left him drained. This last one had taken that to whole new extremes, and if they had actually managed to save someone then maybe Dean could live with it. But they hadn't. The fact Sam had had the vision at all implied a death had occurred somewhere, that the demon was gaining ground. They knew something had happened, they just didn't know what. It had almost killed him, and Sam didn't even remember what he had seen.

It never even occurred to Dean that he might be lying.

He was incredibly tired and the rhythm of Sam's breathing was beginning to lull him back into sleep. He could almost hear something. A distant rumble, a scraping and a clattering that was just out of earshot but the hunter in him was taking time of and the brother was still in control, and the brother was too tired and contented to figure it out.

There was a sudden astounding crash that caused two of the sleeping forms on the bed to bolt their heads up in confusion. Someone had just broken in to their motel room, and with a considerable amount of anxiety and repressed violence. The door flew open so far that it hit the wall, rattling the windows, but that didn't stop the figure from stumbling on his entrance, arms flailing for balance, the momentum sending him running a few paces into the room and almost colliding into a chair that had been left pulled out from the table. Wild and dishevelled and breathing hard through a veil of ill contained panic, and totally unexpected:

"Bobby?" Dean was at a complete loss. The two just stared at each other for a moment, and the older man seemed to visibly relax, almost wilting into himself and losing several inches as he did so, taking in the sight in front of him. Both brothers huddled together on the bed, sleeping and calm and apparently out of danger.

The puppy had also raised its head at Bobby's entrance and was glancing sleepily between the newcomer and Dean as though trying to determine whether the energy would be required to start barking. Dean didn't seem worried however, so with a groaning sigh it flopped back down onto the bed and closed its eyes.

"Some guard dog you are." Dean grouched.

Sam shifted lazily in the bed beside him, an incredibly delayed reaction to Bobby's loud entrance. "Whatsamatter? Are we under attack?" he mumbled sleepily, rubbing his hands over his eyes in a way that really didn't tally with his twenty three years.

"No Sammy it's okay. Bobby's just a little over excited, that's all."

"Bobby?" Sam murmured, brow wrinkled but eyes still firmly shut. "Remind me to call him when you wake up." Shifting slightly before falling still in sleep.

"No... You don't have to ring him. He's here. Sam..? Well, that made a beautiful level of sense." Dean sighed with some trepidation before turning his attention back to Bobby, who had closed the door quietly and was now looking slightly sheepish that his loud and dramatic entrance had not been called for.

"I'm guessing I missed something?"

"What do you remember?" Bobby looked suspiciously like he didn't want to be the one to have this conversation, but Sam was still snoozing gently and Dean had the look of a protective lioness about him so Bobby didn't suggest they wake him.

"Honestly? Not this." Dean held up his hand, glaring at Bobby accusingly.

"Hey, don't look at me. I just got here remember. I have a feeling I'm almost as out of date as you are."

"Do you have any idea what's going on." He whispered quietly to Sam. "Why's Bobby here?"

"I always know what's going on. That's why you keep me."

"I knew there must be a reason" he muttered, with barely a hitch. Bobby was still staring at him as though willing him to make some sense out of what was going on before he had to tell him. The puppy shuffled and Sam subconsciously reached for it, snuggling closer. Dean shook his head at the pair of them. He would be getting no help there. But actually, the sight of the dog did bring back some vague memories…

"We went back to the alley" he said, more to himself. Perhaps it _was_ unnerving that he didn't have a clue at all why he was here. "We took the… and someone came… and then." Several things seemed to click all at once. He remembered charging the figure, Sam calling out a warning, being thrown to the ground. He was suddenly also sure somehow that he had set the cloth they had been researching in motion, and he instantly remembered something of his dreams. But that didn't matter because the other thing he remembered was…

He propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring how dizzy moving suddenly made him feel, because that wasn't important now. Gently he pried up the edge of Sam's t-shirt, needing to see for himself the damage that Kane had inflicted during perhaps the last genuine memory he had.

Sam pulled away at the movement but Dean held him still. The cut was shallow and smooth but the skin around it was raw and still stained with flakes of dried blood, and the shirt Sam was wearing was stiff with it. Dean's dizziness increased but he pushed it away, tried to ignore the images and memories the wound conjured up, to concentrate on the Sam that was with him here and now.

The sun was up. This wound had been inflicted hours ago. "Didn't it occur to you that maybe you should clean it?" he chided the two bleary eyes that were glaring at him, prodded awake by Dean's less than gentle hands.

"I was kinda busy." He protested incredulously. No. It had honestly never occurred to him to check it out, and now Dean had pointed it out to him it was starting to really sting.

"You tell him." Bobby growled in approval. "You save his ass and this is the gratitude you get. Although perhaps you could have rang and told me you were back here instead of leaving me wondering what the hell was going on."

"Someone should probably ring Ash too." Sam said in place of an apology.

"Ash?" Dean was getting increasingly confused.

"He was the one who told me how to reverse it." Sam stated simply. Dean was sitting up now, trying to drag together the energy to be off the bed and alert now that Bobby was here, but Sam didn't seem to care about that and had merely flopped over onto his back, half watching them half the ceiling, but at least it got his cut out of his brother's reach.

"And you?" Dean asked, still not exactly sure what Bobby had hoped to achieve by breaking in to their motel room, or even how he knew where to find them.

"He told me where to go. Who Kane was."

"Kane?"

"The merchant."

"The…"

"Look, why don't we save the story swapping until later." Bobby interrupted, sensing Sam was still not awake enough to give a coherent picture, and he didn't have enough information to provide one himself. He honestly had no idea how Sam had pulled this whole thing off. When the whole night had passed without a return call Bobby had been convinced he had lost them both. "Let's just say you were in a lot of trouble, and now you're not. And the cavalry arrived way to late to be of any use to anyone." He added ruefully.

"You were a lot of help." Sam supplied sincerely, as though slightly taken aback by the ideas Bobby could have possibly thought otherwise.

"Thank you." Dean offered meaningfully. He had a feeling it wasn't just his own emotions Bobby had helped to salvage.

"Don't mention it."

"No. We own you. Big time. Thanks."

"Wow. From Dean Winchester that's all the gratitude I need."

"I'll let you have Dean." Sam offered, inspiration suddenly striking.

"What?!" the two older men turned to stare at him in confusion, and in response Sam held up the still sleepy puppy for Bobby to see, as though it had been painfully obvious what he had been talking about. He shrugged, "Although if you want the other one…"

Bobby looked only minorly relieved, but Dean chuckled at the pleading look on his brother's face, grateful for once that those eyes were not aimed at him. Sam had been trying to find a good home fro the dog since he'd found it, one that preferably didn't involve having to part with it or take it to the shelter, and Dean had to secretly agree he couldn't fault his brother's choice.

"Would I have to call him Dean?"

"Call him what you want. But... You just… you have to take care of him, it's just for some of the time. We'll stop by and see him all the time. To help out."

"Oh god this just keeps getting better."

"I'll take care of him I promise. You'll hardly know he'd there."

"Like you promised to take care of the rabbit you left with Caleb?"

"Yeah, it'll be exactly like that." Sam said, pleased that Bobby seemed to be catching on.

"Don't worry." Dean interjected, noting Bobby's look of concern, "I think the dog will be a bit more vocal if you forget to feed it."

"Poor Muppet." Sam sighed wistfully, but before he could grow too despondent the puppy in his arms yawned sleepily.

"Uhhh. How am I the only one who finds that adorable? Don't you mind them." Sam turned the dog around to face him so it no longer had to stare at the hunters that were too hard hearted to see how cute he was.

Dean smiled and shook his head, looking almost as wistful as Sam and Bobby smiled because he knew it wasn't the puppy Dean found adorable. But he also knew Dean would kill him before admitting it, so he instantly put a serious face back in place.

The puppy housing situation sorted Sam seemed to think his work here was done, and as subtly as he could manage he gave up on sitting and flopped back down onto the bed, eyes sliding closed.

Dean had only just got his wobbly legs to support him, and he used this as the excuse to sit down again, shifting over to his brother's side, hand hovering over Sam's forehead.

"You're getting a little warm there kiddo." He noted with concern.

"Am I?" Sam asked in a tone that somehow managed to be both surprised and completely disinterested. Dean's hand was still hovering and Sam scowled, actually made a move to bat it away before catching himself.

"I'm fine." He promised, "Just tired. How about you?"

"Me? I'm fine."

"Dean" stern and slightly warning, and accompanied by the effort to sit upright again. The no nonsense expression on his face would have been a lot more intimidating if Dean hadn't actually had to help him up and prop him back against the pillows, or if it hadn't been interrupted by a sigh and a roll of his eyes, but Dean seemed to sense it required answering anyway.

"I think I'm okay. I mean, I feel a little groggy, but I think I'm good to go."

"Really?" hopeful, but aware Dean would probably lie to him about this anyway.

"Here." Sam had reached gingerly over to the kit he had left on the bed side table, trying hard not to wince as he did so, handing Dean the thermometer.

"Okaaay… But you couldn't just do it yourself? Open wide."

"Not me you moron. Jesus, you see what I have to work with here? A few hours ago you had a fever that was out of control. Just humour me, okay."

"I did?" Dean was starting to feel slightly less sure of himself now.

"Yeah. We cut it fine. Seriously, it was like your whole body was shutting down. And it sounded like you had some serious fluid on your lung man. Which reminds me, if the old man asks you've got the flu. And you apologise if your loud nightmares last night disturbed any of his other guests. Not that I think there are any."

"Wow." Dean suddenly felt justified in feeling a little wobbly. Now that Sam mentioned it he did feel like he was recovering from a serious bout of the flu. He felt weak enough. He'd had some pretty horrific nightmares, relived some stuff he had been trying desperately to put behind him, but he'd had no idea there had been physical side effects, which was stupid when he thought about it. How did he think those other people had died? He'd been oblivious to the physical effects trapped in the mental, but Sam had seen them, and he knew they had freaked him out.

He handed the thermometer back to Sam without looking at either of them, suddenly not wanting to know what it said or see the effects of what he must have put his brother through. He'd lost well over ten hours of his life, and the last thing he'd known they'd had no idea who was behind these deaths or how to stop them. Sam had obviously been busy, and the last he remembered Sam had been too tired to concentrate on what was going on around them. Either he'd underestimated his brother's resilience, or Sam was in the midst of a serious mental and physical crash right now. Possibly both.

"It looks okay." But Sam was staring at the thermometer mistrustfully, and Dean almost got the impression that Sam wanted there to be something wrong with him so he could take his turn at playing nurse maid for a while, because they both knew he would not be able to get Dean to rest and take it east without physical proof that he needed to.

"Well, that's a good thing." He said gently, sitting back down besides Sam so that he was leaning against the headboard. He really didn't want to have to go through the effort of standing, and he knew from experience how exhausting it was to be worried about someone who didn't seem to be worrying about themselves. If it would make Sam feel better to see him off his feet for a while then he would humour him for the sake of Sam's own health.

And on the issue of Sam's health, as if it was somehow aware Dean was thinking about it, Sam let out an enormous sneeze, the force of which actually shook the bed, making Dean even more light-headed.

Sam sneezed, and two realisations hit him at once. One, that he hadn't thought to change out of his wet clothes before going to sleep either, and two, that it really really hurt to do that, and hopefully he wouldn't ever again.

No such luck, and after the second sneeze he couldn't muffle the gasp of pain which turned into three rib shaking coughs. But if he held his breath he physically didn't have the ability to cough any more.

"Cut it out before you turn blue."

"If you've given me your fake flu…" Sam griped, suddenly aware that his jeans were actually still damp and feeling the need to get his legs off the bed and out of his brothers reach in case he noticed and Sam was never left unsupervised again. Although after last night he perhaps wouldn't mind that.

"Okay, I'm gonna…" he pointed to the bloodstained shirt he was still wearing, suddenly not having the energy to finish the sentence with the head rush of swinging his legs off the bed and sitting upright.

"Can you pass me that bag please?" Bobby lifted Sam's bag onto the other bed and he staggered the distance between them, leaning heavily on the bed for support before changing his mind and sitting on it instead. He ferreted around in silence pulling out a clean t-shirt, then holding up a fresh pair of jeans, half in half out of the bag, staring at them in confusion. Bobby had a clear view of Sam's face, and figured it was probably a good job that Dean was still leaning against the headboard and only had a view of Sam's back, because the thoughts he could see flitting across it would have set Dean's worry into overdrive. Sam's head seemed to follow his train of thought, moving first to stare at the fresh jeans in his hands, the damp ones he was wearing, the boots on his feet, and the new jeans again, looking slightly more resigned to his fate with each new glance. Then he stuffed the pants back into the bag with a slightly guilty expression and a hope no-one had noticed he'd even been considering it. He could think of no conceivable way of getting his laces untied, shoes and jeans off and a new pair on, only to have to reapply the shoes while remaining determinedly upright and not bending his stomach in any way.

He sighed. He was almost dry anyway.

Would it freak Dean out more if he passed out attempting to reach the bathroom or if he stayed here and changed his shirt, putting the numerous bruises he had no doubt managed to accumulate on display? Why did such a simple task as changing out of wet and bloodstained clothes suddenly require such extensive thought and strategising? He suddenly wasn't sure he could even be bothered anymore anyway. He was fairly sure he was going to be asleep again in a few minutes time, and he could do that just as well dressed as he was.

He sighed again, flashing Dean a 'not one word' glance and gingerly pulled the shirt over his head, trying not to pull at his wounded side as he did so. It was slow going and he momentarily smothered himself while doing so, almost gagging on the scent of hours old sweat, blood, tears, dirt and damp. And something in his head seemed to click.

"We need to leave." He said, eyes locked with Bobby's, now actually willing that Dean be paying too much attention to the knife wound he had put on display to notice his words, or the sudden shift in the atmosphere of the room.

Bobby wasn't a hunter for nothing. One minute he had been standing feeling slightly unnecessary and bemused, but he instantly picked up on Sam's concern, and his wish to conceal it for as long as possible from Dean.

"I want to get you both out of here and to a hospital." He stated firmly, moving over to Sam on the pretence of checking out his injured side. Sam nodded vaguely. It was as good a reason to leave as any, and they probably should get checked out. He needed professional reassurance that Dean had suffered no lasting physical effects from his experience, ones slightly more trustworthy than Deans 'don't bug me I'm fine'. He was also very much aware that his entire body hurt, and the nausea from moving was yet to fade. Perhaps he needed some reassurances too; that his insistence they come here hadn't set them both back more unnecessary weeks.

Dean was mid protesting scoff when Bobby cut him off with a stern call of his name, the same fatherly yet demanding voice that had almost caused Sam to wilt over the phone the night before. "We don't know what effect, if any, this thing has on you. And Sam could probably use some stitches, so put some clothes on." He ordered, throwing some at him from the other bag at his side, praying they were actually Dean's because this speech would be a whole lot less effective if they weren't "and quit arguing with me."

Dean fiddled with the clothes in his hands, and was just about to open his mouth to protest when a pleading look from Sam shut him up. And Dean knew he'd been caught. He wanted Sam checked out, and Sam knew it, and the sneaky bastard would only submit to it if Dean did, and even as he realised this he cursed that Sam had ever been born with such insanely expressive eyes.

With a huffiness that was now purely for show Dean took the clothing and marched into the bathroom, ruining the effect by the way he had to support himself on the doorframe on the way in.

The door clicked closed and Sam was instantly on his unsteady feet, shirt on, stuffing what belongings that were within his reach into the bag beside him. Bobby had so many questions he didn't know where to start, but something about Sam's sudden desire to leave got his mind whirling.

"Kane's buyer. He show up?"

"Yeah." Bobby had never known Sam to give such curt, clipped responses. That had been Dean. Sam liked to babble.

"Who…?"

"Vampire." Sam interrupted before he could finish.

And Bobby knew where this was going.

"He get your scent?"

"Yeah." The laptop was back in its case but everything else was on the floor out of his reach.

"And Kane?"

"I don't know?"

"What do you mean..?"

"They were going at it pretty violently when I left. I didn't stick around. I don't know if…"

"You think Kane will come after you? It he…"

"Yeah." A finality and conviction that Bobby didn't expect. That by the looks of Sam he shouldn't have been able to produce. And Bobby knew there was a story there. One he wouldn't be hearing.

"Then we deal." It was hard to be reassuring when you didn't know what was going on. When you'd gone practically your whole life without ever feeling the need to be.

"Yeah…" Sam said, softer this time, grateful even, "But not here."

"What about the car? Either of them see it? Recognise it?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I.."

"Now what the hell is this?" Dean emerged from the bathroom fully dressed, holding out his bandaged hand for all to see, looking extremely indignant about it. "I didn't graze it or sprain it or anything, this," he said, pointing extravagantly, "Is a friggin' knife wound."

"Yeah." Sheepish this time, with a vague touch of apology.

"You wanna fill me in?"

"Well… you remember how the bottom line said something about 'blood', only I wasn't too sure what it meant?" Dean nodded patiently, not cottoning on. "Well, it turned out it had to be…" Sam trailed off, pointing feebly in Dean's direction, wincing at the look of dawning comprehension that crossed his brother's face.

"You...?" he didn't seem to be able to find any more words.

"I'm really sorry." Sam gushed, "But I didn't have any choice…and…" it was obvious that Sam was carrying some serious guilt about it, and Dean wasn't really in any position to gripe at him seen as his only recollection of the last ten hours was how desperately he needed Sam to be with him and alive, but still…

"You couldn't have found a less annoying spot? I mean, the hand dude. My _right _hand. It's not like I never use it."

Sam blanched slightly and Dean felt bad, but seriously… and Sam would be worried about his strength and awareness if he didn't make a fuss about this, and he didn't want Sam worrying, so…

"Okay, enough. I think we can talk about this later, don't you." Bobby interjected, suddenly having a newfound respect for John Winchester and his ability to stay relatively sane during their adolescent years. "We may as well clear out now. Get the rest of your stuff together and I'll go check you out." Bobby had left before Dean could protest, so he fixed his enquiring gaze on Sam instead.

"Just do it Dean. Please." He knew he owed Dean an explanation, but suddenly he was too exhausted to give one. Somehow the presence of an authority figure had wiped away any resolve Sam might have had to remain strong and in control, a marked contrast to the effect they'd had on him for the rest of his life. Dean obeyed in uncharacteristic silence, shooting furtive glances at Sam where he sat, elbows on the table and head in his hands looking suddenly a million miles away, and Dean had to fight the urge to go over and touch him just to reassure himself that Sam really was still here.

Sam had already covered and hidden away the artefact that had caused them so much trouble, knowing they would need the time to destroy it properly and not wanting Dean to have to go through having to even look at it right now. They hadn't been in the room long enough for their possessions to spread. They hadn't even unpacked anything in the bathroom, so it was really only the trail of clothes and research material Sam had left scattered on the floor.

Dean picked up Sam's jacket, fingering the tear the knife had caused almost shyly, somehow needing it feel its physical presence but knowing that if he probed it too hard it would hurt him. He sensed Sam watching him so he cleared his throat guiltily and carried on his way, feeling the need to somehow keep the jacket clutched to himself as he worker. The thick material was still damp and Dean's jaw tightened slightly. He knew it wasn't just blood, and Sam's shaking and sneezing suddenly made a lot more sense. It took a superhuman effort of will but he wouldn't mention it right now. Sam had saved his life, again, and had exhausted himself and possibly made himself sick in the process. He probably didn't need to hear him bitch about it right now. But if Sam just let him die on occasion maybe he wouldn't keep getting hurt at all.

His own clothes from the night before were hiding under the discarded bed sheet and they were tossed into the waiting bag. A flash of colour on his t-shirt attracted his attention and he straightened the material out, gasping at the sight that greeted him. A hand print. Distorted slightly but unbearably clear. An impression made in blood. Sam's. Both of them. The sight both sickened and oddly fascinated him; it was at the same time horrifically painful and strangely beautiful. Sam's presence touching his chest, staining him permanently with his own blood as though determined to make a lasting mark. To not be ignored. He wanted to both instantly burn it and hide it away to contemplate in private, his own secret link to Sam, a bizarre gesture of solidarity and love that couldn't be denied, so instead he tucked it away at the bottom of his bag away from prying eyes, away from the contents that would be immediately washed whenever they got to wherever the hell it was they were going.

"All done." He announced, causing Sam to jump slightly from his spot nodding off at the table. Dean sighed and stretched his shoulders, flexing out the kinks and tension caused by who knew what. He rubbed his hand absently across his neck and shoulders, through the back of his hair, wincing as he did so. He rubbed at a patch of dirt there, and as well as a surprising sudden throbbing pain his hand came back coated in tiny flecks of dried blood.

He was more awake and feeling slightly less sentimental now. The door opened and Bobby re-entered just in time for Dean to round on his brother once more.

"Okay, why exactly do I have what feels like a million tiny cuts on the back of my shoulders?" he asked.

"I don't… Oh." The confusion vanished as he remembered the pile of broken glass he had accidentally dragged his brother through, and the guilt returned.

"What did you…?" he didn't know it he was angry, exasperated or amused, or just desperately happy that he still had the opportunity to make his brother squirm, but it didn't matter which because Bobby didn't let him finish.

"In the car. Now." Sam couldn't hide the smirk at Dean's look of incredulity, but it worried Dean slightly that he seemed to lack the energy to comment on it out loud.

If Dean hadn't staggered on the way to the door Bobby might have let him drive.

"Perhaps we should take your car" Sam voiced innocently, but suspiciously pointedly.

"No, I think we need to get the Impala out of the area as soon as we can."

"Then I'm going to have to drive." Dean said in triumph. He wasn't stupid, he knew something serious was going down, but if it spared him from having to endure someone else driving his baby then he would grin and bare it. Emphasis on the grin.

"I'll leave my car here. Fetch it when I've got you to the hospital and you've reassured me I can leave the two of you alone to watch out for yourselves, without killing each other."

"What are you planning on doing with _that_ while we're at the hospital?" Dean said, pointing in anguish at the puppy Bobby was collecting from its post at Sam's ankles. "There not going to let him inside, and no way are you leaving it in my car unsupervised. No… stop. What…"

Sam just laughed, and for once Dean hoped the action really hurt him as Bobby scooped up the dog and deliberately ignored him, carrying the dog over to the car with determined steps.

"Okay, fine. How do you plan on driving without…" he was patting his pockets and coming up empty. Bobby turned and flashed him a triumphant grin, keys dangling lazily from his fingertips.

"How… You little traitor." he turned on Sam, but he had been upright too long now and his balance was becoming too questionable for him to be able to follow through on the threat in his voice.

"Hey, when you can walk in a straight line or put any pressure on your hand then you can drive all you want, but until then…"

Dean just stormed unsteadily away to the passenger seat. He knew Sam was right, he was still feeling dazed and unsteady, but he didn't have to admit it, and if he couldn't drive no way was he riding in the back. He didn't care how long Sam's legs were.

It took a frustrating amount of time to get the boys on the road. The old motel owner had come out to see them off, startled that they were leaving so soon, and Molly had to give a tearful farewell to the dog. She clung to it so hard Bobby was half tempted to tell her to keep the damn thing, but he knew the extent of the arsenal stashed in the boot and didn't want to risk Sam's wrath if he passed over his 'gift'. Sam was all gentleness and smiles unless his family was threatened, and Bobby got the impression he would be almost as protective of the puppy as he was of Dean.

"Can anyone else hear that?" Dean asked anxiously as Bobby finally pulled the Impala out of the car park and onto the road out of town.

"No." Sam said a little too quickly. The car gave a rattling lurch as it made the turn and Dean visibly blanched. "She's just a little damp; give her time to get warmed up." Sam muttered. Bobby suddenly thought he understood where Sam's reluctance to take the Impala stemmed from.

Dean was feeling dizzy again. He stared determinedly out of the window so he didn't have to hear the engine or his companions' false reassuring excuses.

They drove a few miles in relative silence – the humans at least were quiet – with Bobby not pushing as hard on the accelerator as he would normally have done, or his desire to get the two non fighting fit Winchesters away from retributions range dictated, but he sensed that if he pushed the car further Dean would have a heart attack and die before they got anywhere close to the hospital.

"Hey look at that." Dean commented as the passed a vicious set of skid marks on the side of the road. "Someone had some fun in the rain last night at least." He said settling back, not seeing Sam's guilty squirming in the back seat, and Bobby thought his own ribs would crack from suppressing his amusement.

It was over an hour's ride to the nearest hospital and it would be a pain to get back to the motel relying on his wits and public transport alone, and with a puppy in tow, but Bobby felt justified in his decision to ferry the brothers there by the fact they were both asleep within minutes of leaving the town behind them. He knew that Dean was feeling at lot more drained and confused than he was willing to show, and that Sam had pushed himself past the point of endurance. If Sam's fears were founded and they potentially had Kane and/or a vampire in the immediate vicinity with a grudge against them, there was no way Bobby would be leaving them alone until he was sure they could handle themselves, or at least run and hide effectively. Perhaps in a crowded hospital he would feel safe leaving them. He'd have to do it at some point, because he wasn't taking either of them back to the motel with him, and he couldn't afford to lose another car.

Dean was aware enough to wake when he sensed the car slow, but it wasn't until they'd stopped and he'd been prodded that Sam was willing to re-open his eyes. The dog was curled up on the seat beside him, which was not part of their deal. Dean had only let it in on the condition it at no point came into contact with the car itself. It could do what it wanted to Sam as long as the upholstery was safe, but Sam was looking so spaced Dean didn't waste the effort berating him about it. He didn't think Sam had a clue where he was, much less the ability to understand human speech right now, and truth be told he was starting to get a little bit anxious. He wished someone would tell him what had happened. He _needed_ to know what he had forced Sam to endure, but the only person who could tell him that was Sam himself, and it didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon.

"We'll be really quick. Don't pee in the car." Sam warned the little dog, who had unfortunately also woken on arrival. "Otherwise you'll be longing for your days in a cardboard box, okay." He gave it a reassuring pat, harder than planned because his limbs were lacking in co-ordination, before turning heavily for the door.

Dean began to feel floaty light as soon as he found his feet. He wouldn't mind knowing exactly what had happened to himself either. To have something tangible to focus on other than the jumbled assortment of emotions and memories that assaulted him. That were even now still too close to the surface so that even breathing hurt, but he had to keep it up, calm and even, if only to stifle down the sob he could feel rising in his throat every time he thought of Sam. Which lets face it, was more frequent than the breathing.

Dean felt slightly dizzy on standing, but Sam's knees buckled completely. He grabbed onto the door for support but didn't have the strength left to keep himself upright and began the slow agonising slide to the ground. Dean lurched to his brother's side as though struggling through thick treacle, battling against the paralysis that wanted to kick in at the sight of his little brother again in that much pain. He did his best to prop him upright but Sam couldn't look at him. His face was beyond pale and his eyes were closed, and Dean knew he was fighting the urge to vomit. It would have gone all over the car if he had, but Dean couldn't have cared less. That was his level of concern right now.

"I got him." Gentle hands pushed him kindly but firmly away. Bobby rapped one of Sam's arms across his shoulder and held it there; his other hand on Sam's hip to support him without putting any force on his wounded side. Sam seemed at lest willing to try and support some of his own weight now that the initial shock of being vertical had passed, but Bobby was taking no chances and practically carried him a few uncertain steps away from the car.

Dean swallowed hard to suppress the moan of anguish he could feel forcing itself from his chest upwards. There was a huge empty space in his stomach that was expanding with every step that Bobby took Sam away from him. That was _his_ job. One he needed to be able to do. If you took that away from him then Dean was nothing.

No sound had escaped him but Sam's beacon for pathetic creatures in distress was obviously tingling again. His head turned searching for Dean, not caring that he almost unbalanced Bobby as it did so, and their eyes locked with a small reassuring smile. Twitching fingers were held out towards him from across the car park, and Dean didn't even think Sam was aware of the gesture, seeking that instinctive touch of reassurance that had somehow become the norm.

Dean smiled back and nodded, levering himself away from the car, trying to ignore the steadily fading yipping from behind him as much as the heavy feeling of inadequacy. He was still feeling unaccountably wobbly himself, there was no way he could have supported Sam's weight all the way inside, but he didn't have to be happy about that fact, even if he knew it.

There were more people in this hospital than Dean had seen so far in the entire state, but that didn't count for much and it was still quiet enough for them to be seen almost straight away. Sam was starting to look pretty alarming however, at least to Dean, so that was perhaps only natural.

The brother's were separated as soon as they got through the swinging partition doors leading out of the waiting room, and an epic conversation and battle of wills ensued in complete silence. One glance from Sam told Dean to shut up and get himself checked out, while somehow expressing concern for Dean at the thought of him having to be alone in a hospital and away from Sam again. Dean needed no words to tell Bobby not to even think about leaving Sam, but at the same time to give him an update as soon as was humanly possible because he was only going to be able to stand being here for a limited period of time before his need to know what was going on with his brother caused him to get violent.

It was hard for Sam to watch Dean led away from him after all he had endured to keep them together, but he didn't physically have the strength to follow, and he knew it was only a temporary parting so he let himself be pushed down into a wheelchair, grateful beyond reason that he was no longer being asked to stand, and to be wheeled in the opposite direction. It was a good job Dean had insisted that Bobby accompany him, because he didn't possess the mental faculties necessary to provide a reasonable explanation for his current condition, or why he had so flagrantly flouted every instruction he had been given the last time he had been in a hospital.

Trusting that Bobby would be able to fill his silence Sam allowed his eyes to continue to drift closed.

TBC

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I know there reunion wasn't as touching as it perhaps could have been, but perhaps they need time to process things first. Give Dean some time alone and maybe he'll be more aware of what he experienced, and Sam was too tired to really realise he had Dean back or how close he came to losing him. And it felt a bit odd to do it with Bobby in the room. So maybe later…

Sorry, feeling the need to justify myself again. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and thanks for the continued support.


	7. Chapter 7

**Restoring the Balance**

**By Floralia**

SUMMARY: The brothers struggle to restore their equilibrium after Sam is injured on a hunt, but obviously something supernatural gets in the way.

DISCLAIMER: Completely and utterly unofficial.

God Dean hated hospital. He never seemed to leave them complete. They always wanted to take a little something from him – usually more than he was willing to lose. Practically every bad memory he'd formed over the last 6 months had taken place within these sterile white walls. If he wasn't being told he had a week left to live he was watching his father die. And then there was Sam. It felt like he'd only just been able to get his brother out of one, and yet here they were again and this time it was no different. Dean still didn't fully know what had happened to bring them here, or how badly his brother had been injured saving him.

The first twenty minutes had been relatively alright; there had been someone with him at all times. People to talk to, excuses to try and force his tired mind to find. Something to explain why he was here other than 'Sam made me' or 'I think I may have had my soul sucked out'. The amount of time it took to think of something to say seemed to fit with the eventual (if embarrassing) tale of a random fainting spell that had left him wobbly and kind of confused. He'd been prodded and poked, had his blood pressure taken (low but not life threatening), was told he was a little dehydrated and his blood sugar was a little low (had he thought about eating anything?). He was given an IV of fluids and told not to move for the next two hours, by which time he would probably be feeling better and he'd be free to go.

It had seemed like a fairly reasonable order, and Dean couldn't help but feel he had gotten of lightly. He was feeling better already, as if the knowledge there was nothing major medically wrong with him had convinced his body to quit complaining because it was fine.

But that had been ten minutes ago.

Ten minutes of inactivity and introspection, and another hour and fifty minutes before they would unhook him and he could demand to see Sam.

After five minutes he had asked that they just stick him in a wheelchair and roll him across to his brother's room, but apparently there was some reason why he had to be lying down, and when Dean had pointed out the bed came with wheels the nurse had just pursed her lips and walked away. Now she was not responding to the call button. Perhaps he should have enquired about Sam before annoying her with his obsessive demands to see him, but that was what hindsight was for.

The ceiling was so boring. There weren't even tiles to count. No funky water marks or stains (probably a good thing in a hospital). Absolutely nothing to keep his mind occupied other than Sam, and what could possibly be keeping them busy for so long that they hadn't come in to tell him what was going on before now. What had he ever done that would make Bobby so grossly overestimate his level of patience?

Fifteen minutes of fluids and nutrients left Dean longing for a return to the confusion and light-headedness he had felt on waking. Because now his mind was far too clear, and from this point on the recollections would only continue to get sharper.

He was too anxious to rest so had to be active, to keep sitting upright, welcoming the head rush that accompanied the move because it stopped his thoughts for a few blissful seconds. A couple of times he even swung his legs out of the bed, determined that if no-one would come to him with news then he would just have to go and find Sam himself, but for some reason a twinge of guilt always forced him back into the bed, where he would lie still for at least another minute, fighting for calm, before his desire to pace got the better of him again.

He had promised Sam that he would submit to whatever was asked of him. He had promised himself that he would not stress Sam out further by flouting his concerns. In an hour and forty minutes time he could hover to his hearts content and Sam would have no excuse to stress about it because Dean would officially be fine. An hour and thirty nine minutes wasn't a long time. Not compared to the time Sam had just spent contemplating Dean's health. But Sam hadn't spent that time staring at a ceiling. It he had, Dean would perhaps be a fraction less twitchy than he was now.

Sam had been okay when they had left the motel last night. He'd been tired, but he'd been relatively okay. The condition he was in now – Dean had done that to him, and he didn't need a medical degree to know it would take more than an IV of fluids and a cup of sweet tea to fix.

It was no good. It was insane to think he could stay here. So what if it had been what Sam asked. Sam had asked him to leave before, and that hadn't exactly gone well. There was a reason he didn't like to let Sam out of his sight, and it was a lesson hard learnt, through three painful failed exercises. Dean bolted upright so quickly that the force of this realisation, and the dizziness that followed, took his breath away.

And he couldn't find it again.

He flopped back against the pillow but it didn't help. Didn't remove the crushing weight of his fear. That even now, while he was too paralysed to move, Sam could be slipping away. There was no other reason for Bobby to have stayed away for this long. No possible excuse that would be good enough, and there was no conceivable way for Dean to get out of this bed and reassure himself that there might be while be was panicking and sobbing and hyperventilating all at the same time. He needed to calm down, but he needed to be given a reason to do so, and as long as a part of him welcomed the pain, felt closer to Sam through the bond of it, that wasn't going to happen.

He would not fall apart. He would not live through everything he had struggled through, thanks to last night struggled through more than once, just to lose it at the last hurdle. It was the thought of Sam that made him want to huddle into himself and cry quietly for the next thousand years, that made him want to scream and pace and hit something really really hard. But it was also the thought of Sam that made him breathe, made him fight to get the anxiety attack under control, because he would not make Sam carry him any further than he already did.

So by the time he'd passed the forty minute mark Dean's obsessive need to move had left him, and a lethargy the likes of which he had never experienced before had set in. Not only did he know what he had experienced now, but he was starting to feel it too. The crushing weight of every last drop of emotion he had felt. All of that pain and fear. It forced him down into the bed like there had been an increase in the force of gravity. It sapped his energy and his strength so he wouldn't have been able to move even if he had enough of his mind left to instigate the action. But his mind just wanted to shut down now, because it was too hard to be here and to keep it in working order.

And that was how Bobby found him, just over an hour into his two hour exile. So still in that bed that it was unnerving, and he could have sworn that in the two minutes it took before Dean was aware of his presence, he didn't blink once.

Dean couldn't find his voice. All of his energy was going into keeping his defensive wall in place, a flood barrier that was so far holding out against the storm inside him, the violence of which wasn't reflected on his still face. But his eyes could not contain the battle within. The need they conveyed was so terrifyingly raw that Bobby suddenly felt somehow inadequate. Knew that he would never be able to give them what they needed to be whole again. But he could point them in the direction of someone who could.

"Sam's gonna be fine." He said, taking a seat at Dean's side even as he wanted desperately to be out of the naked exposure of his gaze. "He's resting. He's exhausted, but he'd gonna be fine."

Dean exhaled a massive amount of air, wanting to rid himself of the ridiculous amount of weight he seemed to carry. The burden that Bobby's words had slightly lifted. He brought one hand up to rub his tired eyes, and the limb was heavy beyond reason, but he felt somehow protected to leave it covering his face, not noticing Bobby's own sigh of relief as he did so.

He'd got the important part out of the way first. The part that Dean needed to hear the most, but the older man knew he would not be satisfied until he was sure he had squeezed out every last drop of information that was at his disposal. That was what had kept Bobby away for so long, knowing that to come to Dean with half a story regarding Sam could be more detrimental than leaving him with no story at all.

"I told them he slipped in the rain, fell down some stairs. Must have cut his side on a sharp point of the banister on the way down. That he was alone, so he was out in the wet for a while. That he was using the railings to try and pull himself up when we found him. That and something about trying to lift a bookcase. It's lame and I don't think they really believed me, but it wasn't like he was awake to contradict me, and I wanted to make sure they checked to be certain he hadn't just got the obvious bruises, but to see if he'd pulled something too. Put pressure on those wounds that he wasn't supposed to."

Dean remained silent and he wasn't looking at Bobby, but the other man knew he was clinging to every word like a lifeline.

"They gave him a thorough checking over, even did an ultrasound. He's gonna be a little sore, probably pulled a few things that he shouldn't have, but it doesn't look like anything's torn. He's showing no signs of internal bleeding, but they're gonna check him out again in a couple of hours to be sure. It's just a precaution," he pre-empted, "they're pretty confident everything's as it should be"

Dean just snorted at his choice of words.

"He's got a couple of stitches in his side." Bobby ploughed on ignoring the interruption. "They finally got round to cleaning and dressing that wound but it wasn't really that deep. Just a flesh wound, but it's gonna hurt, and he's gonna have to take it easy for a few days. Not much moving around because those stitches are in an awkward place and they'll be easy to pull."

He felt slightly bad for Sam, knowing he'd just sentenced him to at least a week of vigilance and immobility, but Bobby sensed that Dean needed a practical task to focus on. He had not been able to help Sam so far in any way during this second round of hospitalisation, and it changing Sam's bandages and making sure he didn't pull his stitches was the only thing he could do, then Dean needed to be allowed to do it.

"You were right at the motel. He's running a slight fever. The skin around the knife wound is looking pretty raw, there's a risk he picked up a mild infection, or it could just go along with the cough he seems to have picked up. They're running some tests to be sure, but they're getting some fluids and antibiotics into him. He'll rally in no time. He just needs to rest more than anything else. They want to keep him in for observation for at least 24 hours, monitor any infection and reassure themselves he's coherent when he wakes up. And probably make sure he doesn't tell them we threw him down the stairs or anything, so you might want to fill him in on what supposedly happened before they get him alone. But other than that there's no serious setbacks. Nothing you need to beat yourself up about."

The look Dean gave him then told how much he believed that statement.

"What the hell happened Dean?" Bobby was suddenly harsher than he had been while discussing Sam. "I asked you, and you told me things were fine. That you were both fine. You know that you didn't have to do this alone."

But he did. It was hard to explain, and he wasn't sure he really understood it himself, but he had needed to go through this alone. Both Bobby and Ellen had offered them a place to stay, had berated him for the fact they had only found out what had happened at all because they had been calling about other things, and Sam himself had answered the phone. Dean had stopped doing that for a while. But Dean had shared Sam for so long among the various health care professionals assigned to him that when faced with the opportunity for the two of them to be alone together and back on the road, even if that meant being stationary for a while, it was too appealing to pass up. But perhaps they should have taken one of them up on the offer, and while he knew Sam was thinking it, he had somehow never been able to voice the suggestion out loud. So Dean had continued to pretend he had not seen it himself. He had needed to prove to them both that he could take care of things. Had taken offence at everyone's seeming insistence that he couldn't. And look where that had got them.

"When Sam set it off it was because he was experiencing the emotion at the same time as touching it."

Dean nodded slowly. He knew where Bobby was going with this. It wasn't anything he hadn't already thought himself. But he deserved to hear the words.

"But you knew that, because you're the one that told me. You knew how it worked. You knew exactly what you were dealing with, and with the emotional baggage you've been carrying around you never saw this coming? Look, I'm not…" he sighed. He didn't even know himself what he was trying to say, and laying more guilt on Dean's shoulders was not the effect he was going for, would help no-one right now. "You need to stay focused on this job. How many times growing up did you have this conversation with Sam? I don't understand why you even wanted to come here… I…"

"I didn't." So quiet. Such an alien sound from Dean's mouth. No trace of confidence, no fake bravado, but the bare truth. "Sam wanted to… He needed, I don't know… To feel like he was doing something."

"Like _he_ was doing something. You have no leads on this demon and the chance of a few weeks' peace, and _Sam_ feels that _he_ needs to be doing something? I know things have changed, for both of you since… But are you sure it was him he was trying to amuse?"

But Dean just stared at him. Did he not think he'd already had these same thoughts? But Dean had made his own position painfully clear. He would stay hidden away with Sam until time ended rather than willingly put him back on the front lines. It was Sam who had pushed, and Dean couldn't deny him because it would only allow Sam to slip further away.

"I'm just saying, from an outsider's perspective, it looks like you've had a communication breakdown somewhere along the way. Promise me you'll deal with that before you rush into any more hunts." And Bobby got the feeling that Dean would rather hunt down a heard of wendigos than have to admit to what he was feeling, but if it avoided another incident like last night then Bobby would risk Dean's swinging fists and continue to push. Because until he really and truly dealt with what had happened, until he allowed his mind to process it fully and move on, Dean would only ever be a liability. Would never be able to see the job at hand, only Sam in the midst of it. And while nothing could be further from Dean's intentions and motivations, one day it would kill them both.

"Tell me what happened." Somehow Sam had done what he came here to do. What Dean could not. And he suddenly needed to know how. As much of it as Bobby could tell him. He needed something to occupy his mind for the next forty minutes, something to stave off the catatonia he could feel lurking at the edges of his subconscious. Just for a little while longer. He could only hope that being allowed in that room with Sam would keep his demons at bay. That perhaps Sam would save him again, and this time he could do so from a hospital bed with no risk to himself involved.

"I can tell you what I think happened." And Bobby shared with Dean the information he had shared with Sam, allowing him to draw his own conclusions. Sam had left Dean in the motel room with a name and a potential address, and on the back of that he had pulled of a near miracle, but the more Dean thought about it he realised it shouldn't surprise him. Sam had managed to stop a monster from hurting Dean further while sporting a near fatal wound. Anything else, any other pain or illness, paled in comparison to that. But if Dean had been stronger. Had been able to hold it together a little bit longer, he would never have had to.

"It's not your fault." He wanted to be able to find the words Sam would say, but their relationship was complex and at times inappropriate and he wasn't sure which direction to go in for the best. So he settled for sincere. "No-one could have gone through the year you've just gone through and expect to be on the top of their game. You're not weak. You're human. And you didn't force Sam to do anything. He didn't even question it Dean" Bobby told him with a smile, somehow feeling that Dean needed to know this. "Nobody pushed him into anything. He knew exactly what he wanted when he rang me, and exactly what he was going to do with it when he got it. He was completely in control. He didn't ask for my opinion, and he never questioned his own. He did what he needed to do. Don't look too hard for something that isn't there, because the more you pick away the more likely you are to convince yourself you can find it. Question yourself and you belittle what Sam did for you."

He knew Bobby meant well, that he was only trying to help, but Dean's head was too full to really take in his words. But he stored them away, and knew they would return to be dwelt on later. When his mind wasn't busy filtering out anything that wasn't a direct access link to his brother.

The brother he could see in half an hour's time. He'd waited nine days to see him before. Suddenly half and hour didn't seem like such a daunting feat, and the direction of that revelation was startling. But he wouldn't cry in front of Bobby. He wouldn't. But there was nothing he could do to hold back the wail of misery he could feel was so close to escaping. His hand returned to his eyes to hide him from view but he was fighting against the inevitable now.

As though sensing this Bobby allowed him his dignity, and with a gentle clap on the shoulder he slipped silently from the room, leaving Dean to his grief. If he let if out now then perhaps it would not leave this room. If he just allowed himself to feel it, completely, if only for a moment, yes the force of it would be devastating, but it might just leave him free.

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Bobby had been staring anxiously, yet no doubt unnecessarily, out of the window when a soft knocking drew his attention to the door.

Dean looked better than when he'd left him. He was 25 minutes behind schedule but he would not have been out of bed unless the doctors had cleared him to be, and from the looks of it he had actually made the effort to attempt to make himself presentable before facing Sam. He had cleaned his face and washed the signs of his breakdown away, but he had not put his mask back in place. The look he was wearing was more honest than Bobby had ever seen him, spoke more about his feelings than words ever could. Yes, things had spiralled out of his control, and maybe he was partly to blame for that. But it would go no further. He was hurting, but he wanted to heal. He just needed the time and the space to be able to do that. He needed to know he would not have to face tomorrow alone.

Sam was still sleeping peacefully in the bed between them, had not woken since he had fallen asleep in his chair, almost the instant Dean had been out of his sight. But he was _sleeping_ sleeping, and besides some mild antibiotics he was not being medicated. Bobby had been relieved at how natural and peaceful he looked, curled slightly onto his good side, and he could only imagine how reassuring that must have been to Dean. Even if he did have his back to the door. This was not the stiff and unnaturally still flat on his back face to the ceiling, uncomfortable and unrestful slumber that Dean had sat through in the past. This was just a pit stop, and even his posture spoke of Sam's willingness to spring back to his feet, to continue the forward march in no time.

"I'll be outside." They had not had a moment alone since Dean had woke, not with both of them conscious at least, and while Sam might be sleeping now, might remain so for some time, Bobby knew how badly Dean needed this time. "I'll go rescue your car. See how the dog's doing. You need anything before I go? You want some coffee? There's a machine just down the hall."

"Does it fizz?" Bobby looked at him curiously but Dean shook his head. He didn't need anything. Not anymore. They had let him go with a clean bill of health and physically he felt fine. A little stiff, and his hand stung, but he was used to putting up with worse. And while the emotional wounds were still raw, the buzzing in his mind seemed to calm as he entered the room. This time yesterday he would have scoffed at the notion, but one glance at Sam and he knew he was going to be okay. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but somewhere along the line he _would_ learn to live again without this constant nagging invasive fear that had been dragging him down. One day he would make it back to the regular level of anxiety and fear that came with life with Sam.

Bobby glanced at his watch on the way to the door then back at the bed and hovered, as though wondering whether to say more.

"You're anxious."

"You boys have that effect on me."

"Bobby… What..?"

"Will you be okay here for a couple of hours while I head back to fetch my car? I don't have to go, but it's a Sunday, I don't know how reliable the bus links gonna be."

"We'll drive back in the morning; take it easy for a while."

"No. You're coming back to mine in the morning. As soon as Sam's released we're getting out of this state. And I think you're gonna want to stay out of it for a while."

"What aren't you telling me?" Dean was calm, but it wasn't the forced curt control of a hunter. It was simple trust.

"Whatever Sam did, he did it right under Kane's nose. You don't get a position and a reputation like Kane's by letting these things slide. Whether you like it or not I think you need to lie low for a while. Leave Kane's territory and leave as little trace behind you as you can. Going back isn't an option for you anymore. Also… the buyer Kane had lined up for… well. Sam said it was a vampire, and he seemed fairly sure it had his scent. That's why he was so keen to leave the motel. I doubt he was followed, you were both sleeping targets and that would have been too good to pass up, but again, it's not worth the chance. This place is livening up, and they have their own security, and I don't have to tell you to be vigilant." Bobby smiled. Dean would question the doctors before he let them near Sam, so mysterious cloaked figures would not escape his notice.

Dean nodded and sighed. That complicated matters, but it shouldn't really have been unexpected. Whatever consequences came their way, they would deal with. And the sooner Bobby left, the sooner he would make it back here, and _his_ puppy could be transferred to _his_ car.

"I'll take the dog with me. You don't need to worry about going out to check on him."

"Thanks." Dean offered gratefully. He was almost sorry to watch Bobby go, but it allowed him to at last turn his attention to the figure in the bed.

"Thank you." He whispered, taking a seat where he could at last see his brother's face, and he wasn't really sure what he was thanking him for, which nightmare in particular Dean was acknowledging that Sam had pulled him out of. His hand hovered for a moment close to his brother's head. He wanted to feel for himself the level of Sam's fever. He wanted to move away Sam's insane hair, so much longer now than it had been the last time because cutting it had not been a priority for so long, because it blocked the view of the colour slowly returning to his brother's face. But he held back. He wouldn't wake him. Perhaps he could learn to find some peace in just sitting here and watching him sleep. There was a time not so long ago when he had longed that his brother find such peace.

Sam shuffled a few times in sleep, but apart from that the room was still and silent. But it was relaxing rather than oppressive. He had been on edge for so long, but Dean had never really stopped to question what he was anxious about. It had seemed obvious. Reliving it all the way he had had been brutal and coarse, but it had also made a few things clearer. Like some twisted form of therapy it would not help him move on, but he was more aware now what the problem was. Exactly what had scared him. He could only hope that that realisation would help him to heal.

He had believed his brother dead, and it didn't matter that he had been wrong. He had lived through it. And he couldn't breathe every time he considered the possibility he might ever have to do so again.

It wasn't that Sam had been hurt that freaked him out, it was the fact he had lived for a full thirty minutes in a world in which Sam was dead, and he never ever wanted to go back there. And now, every time his brother flinched it was not Sam's pain that he would see, but that place. It was selfish, and he hated himself for it even as he realised it to be true, but the physical pain itself almost didn't bother him – it was proof that Sam was alive. It was what the pain represented, and where it could leave Dean, that had him waking in the middle of the night screaming his brother's name, checking manically for a pulse to prove to himself that he didn't have to be alone.

Not yet.

And it was that final realisation that ensured the logic of Sam's reassurances couldn't push the fear away. Because while Sam had defied death this time, there was always tomorrow, or the next day. And every day that Sam lived and Dean was too paranoid to share it with him was one more day scratched off the tally of his life. One more day closer to the one when Dean would wake up alone.

"Hey." He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't seen his brother wake, and he wondered how long Sam had been studying him in silence before he'd decided to announce his presence. He didn't attempt to sit up, merely snuggled deeper into his bedcovers, but he seemed contented with what he saw.

"How are you feeling?" Simultaneous, but Sam had always had the most patience so Dean answered first.

"A clean bill of health. I was a little dehydrated, but whatever was wrong with me, it's not now."

"Are you all in there?" Sam reached out a wobbly hand and gave Dean's knee a slight poke and a shake. "Nothing rattles?"

"Nothing that didn't already."

"You really okay?" the first hint of trepidation was back in his voice. Dean actually took the time to consider the question before answering. He shook his head hesitantly, the admission cost him, "But we will be," he finished firmly.

Sam smiled and nodded in return, looking more relieved with that answer than he ever had for all the hundreds of times Dean had told him he was fine.

"How about you?"

"Tired." For such a short word Sam somehow managed to make it sound long.

"I can see that."

Sam's eyes were struggling to remain open and his hand had not left Dean's knee, the only part of his brother he could reach as long as Dean continued to lean back in his chair, as though reassuring himself Dean would still be here if they slipped down all the way.

Dean decided to for once take pity on Sam's sudden need for contact; he knew exactly where it stemmed from, moving the chair closer and resting his arms on the bed, leaning down so he was closer to Sam's level. Sam had looked guilty at first, as though assuming Dean's movement had been designed to surreptitiously push his hand away, so Dean renewed the contact on the pretence of fiddling with the plastic band the hospital had applied to his brother's wrist. Sam just smiled and watched him. He wasn't fooled, but he wouldn't mention it either.

This wasn't how he had envisioned their reunion going. He had been conscious for it in his head. He had not left Dean to wake up confused and alone, to immediately have to resume a position of control. At least Bobby had shown up it time to prevent Dean from having to take the aftermath of the night's events on by himself.

There had been so much that Sam had wanted to say, but he knew how his brother worked and he knew that he had somehow missed his chance. Back on the motel bed within Dean's first minutes of waking Sam could have done and said as he pleased. He'd have had a literally captive audience, and it would have been one of those few rare occasions when saying what he was thinking would have been allowed.

Dean was still fiddling with Sam's hand, the same way he had back in the last hospital while Sam had slept, almost as if he wasn't even aware that he was doing it. If Sam opened his mouth it would wake Dean up and he would retreat to the furthest reaches of his chair again. So Sam kept it in.

But Dean was here, he was still with him, and he was calmer than Sam had seen him in weeks. His restless energy was gone but he wasn't staring into space with a look of ill contained hysteria either, and Sam let out a shaky sigh of relief. For the first time since he had woken up in that stupid hospital bed he looked at his brother and saw Dean staring back at him. And suddenly he felt like he hadn't seen him in weeks.

Sam had cut it dangerously close last night, he knew he had barely performed the ritual in time, but they had been skating close to the edge long before that. Dean had been deteriorating before his eyes for long before he touched Kane's artefact in that alley. And Sam had tried everything he could think of to bring him out of it. He had been docile, but that had worried Dean more. He had tried to act normal, but that had somehow annoyed him, and getting angry himself had only made Dean cling harder. He wasn't exactly sure what it was that had finally broken through, but something had obviously worked, and Sam could feel all the tension and unease that had been holding him together slowly leaking away.

He was too exhausted, and the relief was too great to be able to ignore.

"Don't ever do that again." He tried to conceal the sob that left him with words, but it didn't really work, and the hand over his eyes was fooling no-one because Dean had used the same trick.

"Don't give me a reason to." Dean answered simply. Sam was close to losing control, but for once Dean found that he could hardly begrudge Sam his emotions, and he was ready and willing to meet him half way.

"Hey. It's okay. We're fine. It's been a crappy few days, but we're gonna be fine. It's over now, I promise."

Sam tried to nod and wipe the tears away, but then the coughing started, deep and chesty and he knew it wouldn't be leaving him soon. And if possible it hurt more than he remembered it. Pulled at the throbbing wound in his side and rattled his internal bruises. And the tears were for a different reason entirely now.

"Okay, here. Take this." Dean helped him raise his head and pressed a glass of water from the table beside him to Sam's lips, trying to stave off the coughing. "Better?"

Sam nodded quietly but he couldn't hide a grimace, could hide very little from Dean behind those eyes

"Alright, I'm gonna call the doctor in okay. We should probably let them know you're awake, and they can give you something, get you feeling better." Two hours sat in the cold playing with a puppy and Sam had been on the heavy duty pain killers. Dean couldn't help but think it was slightly insane that the doctors had not thought to dose him up before now. But then, Sam had been asleep and unable to tell them he needed it. Well, that was easily fixed.

But Sam seemed to have other ideas.

"No!" a hand shot out and grabbed Dean's wrist preventing him from leaving, from going for aid.

"I'm gonna be right back." Dean reassured gently, misunderstanding why Sam was oppose to the suggestion.

"I know, I just… later…" it was slightly pleading and Dean didn't understand it, but sensed it was important to Sam that he play along so he hovered, trying to mask his frown of concern.

He had just got Dean back. He wanted some time to just lie here and bask in that fact, and Sam knew that once they started to medicate him he would no longer feel it. He was already so very tired, but he struggled to stay awake because he had lost time to make up with Dean. With drugs in his system that difficult battle would become impossible.

"Sam?" There was a level of concern in Dean's voice now that Sam hated. Hated that he was the cause of it. Sam had watched Dean suffer for all of 90 minutes and he was still unnerved by it. Dean had lived that way for weeks. And Sam had been able to do something about it. Could be active, could at least attempt to make it right. Dean had been completely and utterly impotent. Sam hadn't once stopped to consider the torture that must have been, and the depth of Dean's fears and feelings of inadequacy suddenly made a great deal more sense.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

"For what?"

Sam just shrugged. He had no words to answer that question; he just wanted Dean to know that it was true. He was really and truly sorry. For everything. That Dean had to carry so much unnecessary guilt and pain. That he was at the centre of it all. That he had caught that invasive glimpse of his brother's private thoughts and emotions. That it was Sam himself that seemed to be such an unintentional source of confusion and inner turmoil. That he had been the reason, and the focus, of Dean's seven hour hell.

Sam was still grabbing his wrist as though not trusting him to not leave so Dean sat back down, only this time he did something he had not done so far, and sat on the edge of Sam's bed.

"It's not like you meant to get hurt. And you tried to warn me last night. Don't apologise."

"I know, but… I don't exactly make it easy for you either. And I sorry."

"Me too."

Now it was Sam's turn to look confused. Dean had done nothing but take care of him for… ever. What did he possibly feel the need to apologise for? But Dean just echoed the gesture Sam had been aiming for and shrugged and shook his head. It didn't matter what he was sorry for, just as long as Sam knew that he was.

"But things are going to be better from now on, I promise."

The look Sam gave him was so hopeful, so trusting, that Dean was moved to do something that took them both by surprise. He leant over and hugged him. It wasn't a full hug, more of a one armed squeeze of the shoulder, awkward in more ways than one and hindered by the fact Sam was actually still mostly lying down. Incredibly gentle and incredibly brief, but the closest thing to a hug that he had given his brother for a long time. Perhaps the only time while Sam's eyes had been aware that Dean had instigated contact that had not been purely designed to benefit his own peace of mind.

If Sam found the gesture odd he thankfully didn't mention it, and Dean had kept it brief enough that he might hopefully think he had hallucinated it anyway, and would avoid bringing it up in case he worried Dean further, a thought which both saddened and amused Dean at the same time.

Sam was still fighting to stay awake, and while Dean might understand it, it really wasn't necessary anymore.

"Okay, lets get you some drugs." He mocked, standing once more. "Then you need to get some sleep, because Bobby's dragging us back to his when we blow this join so you might want to get some peace while you can."

"Are you sure?" Sam would follow Dean's lead on this, wasn't even sure of his own opinion on the matter. He knew Dean had felt the need to manage alone, and if he still did, Sam would not force him to rely on anyone.

"Yeah. I think we could both use a break. And Bobby seems to think you've been pissing people off so it wouldn't hurt to get out of here."

"It's more than a two hour drive" Sam pointed out.

"Well, we'll just have to take it in stages then, won't we."

Sam just nodded and allowed his eyes to continue to close. Dean would be here when he woke. He always was, and probably always would be. And the sooner he rested the sooner he would wake, and they could get out of here, and leave this whole stupid nightmare behind them.

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Oh dear. They're just not co-operating. They still haven't actually made it to Bobby's yet. I blame Bobby - for a taciturn guy he doesn't half ramble on. I guess that means there's going to have to be another chapter……


	8. Chapter 8

**Restoring the Balance**

**By Floralia**

SUMMARY: The brothers struggle to restore their equilibrium after Sam is injured on a hunt, but obviously something supernatural gets in the way.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing to do with Supernatural and am getting no money for this. Well technically I am since I wrote most of this chapter while at work, but they don't know this is what they were paying me for.

Firstly I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed and continued to support this story. I was really nervous when I first posted, and at stupid as it might sound that feeling never really went away with each new instalment, so the feedback has been really reassuring and therapeutic. I am especially grateful for the positive response to the last couple of chapters, because I had such a hard time filtering through what I really wanted them to say to each other, and what I could actually picture them being able to say, and the level of affection that would ring true.

Okay, so nothing really much happens in this chapter, but as I haven't posted anything for a while I thought I'd let you have it now rather than wait to give it all in one go.

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"You sure you don't want me to stick with you the whole way?" Bobby asked as they headed over the car park to their means of escape.

Sam had been discharged with another assortment of fun drugs, a set of strict instructions, a minor scolding, and the insistence that he get himself checked out in another week just to be sure. He had sat through the telling off looking suitably remorseful, reserving his scowl for when the doctor had left. Having Dean and Bobby around for 24 hours a day was going to be quite enough to ensure he never had to do anything taxing ever again, he didn't need to hear it from anyone else. But Sam would do as they asked. He would be good; he would rest so that he could heal and not have to worry Dean further.

"No. If you follow us to the border we should be able to make out own way from there. We're gonna be taking it pretty easy, it might take us a couple of days to get to you."

"It wouldn't hurt for you to take it steady yourself." Sam chimed in. Bobby had driven almost non-stop for most of the previous night to get here, had ferried them around during the morning, and had a nightmare of a time making it back to retrieve his car – not aided by the fact the dog had made a brief escape to rejoin his playmate, and had seemed to decide that faced with the choice of Bobby or the child he would rather stay where he was. Molly had been eating a hot-dog at the time though, so Bobby tried not to take it too personally. Dean had assured him that the puppy was weirdly well trained for a stray, although he had also said it was only Sam that it really seemed to respond to.

Sam wasn't sure where Bobby had ended up last night. Dean had again argued, bribed and sweet-talked the night nurses into letting him resume his chair based vigil, something he had become such an expert at of late that Sam guessed he had actually learnt how to make the most of the position now, and it seemed that this time around he had actually been able to sleep. He looked rested anyway. Sam suspected Bobby had ended up in the back of his car in a lay-by with the dog. He wished they could talk him into not making the journey in a day, to at least linger with them part of the way, but he knew Bobby's offer to stay with them had been out of politeness and nothing more. He needed to get back. He had things he needed to sort out before they got there, which both brothers found a little ominous. And in truth Sam was glad that it would be just him and Dean on the road again; if only for a short time, and if only for short distances before Sam could no-longer conceal that he was getting fidgety.

Bobby would escort them to the border before he left them. He seemed sure that Kane would not pursue them over the state limits. Not for the time being at least, because he had too much of a clean up job on his hands at home. If he was even still alive that was. Bobby said he knew people that were looking into it, but Sam felt sure that it would take more than and angry vampire to take the merchant down, and he was also sure that it would only be a matter of time before Kane's greed and curiosity got the better of him, and he widened his search area. He couldn't honestly have expected that Sam would willingly go back and hand himself over, so he must have had another plan in mind to have let Sam leave at all. Must have been prepared to make the effort to find him again rather than watching all that potential go to waste at the hands, and stomach, of a vampire.

Sam had handed over the artefact discretely, still not willing to let Dean lay eyes on it just yet. Bobby would take it back with him and look up ways of destroying it for good, but he would hold of until they got there before going through with what he found. They both sensed it was something that Dean would need to do himself when he was ready. Be able to destroy one of the reminders of his perceived inadequacy.

They said goodbye to the puppy, who would be making its way to its new home with its new owner, and while it had taken to Bobby well enough – Sam insisted it was doing so to see if it could make Dean jealous – it was still only really interested in Sam, and seemed unable to comprehend how he could hand him over to someone else and walk away.

"Good God." Dean complained, "He's gonna get stopped by animal welfare before he gets back if he's not careful. Anyone would think he was torturing the poor thing. He'd not even touching it, look."

But Sam was trying his hardest not too. The dog had its face pressed to the window of Bobby's car, paws frantically trying to dig their way through the metal to break free.

"Maybe he should ride…"

"No. We've been through this. You're gonna have to learn to be strong. If we're leaving him with Bobby he's going to have to accept that Bobby's the boss, or it's gonna be a nightmare when we leave."

"If?" Sam picked up on hopefully.

"Yeah, whatever." Dean grumbled, "It was an expression okay. The damn thing's staying."

Sam didn't seem to be listening. He was peering out of his window, eyes glued to the other car as Dean pulled the Impala away from it. Bobby waved to him reassuringly, but Sam didn't even seem to notice him in the car.

"God, you're not going to start whining too are you?"

Sam didn't dignify him with a response, but on the subject of whining….

"Hey, will you listen to that."

"What?" Sam had the sinking suspicion he was being tricked somehow. They hadn't even been on the road for 30 seconds yet, surely Dean wasn't going to start this up already.

"That." Dean insisted.

"I don't hear anything."

"Exactly."

"What's…?" Oh. Vague recollections of skid marks and a lamppost flashed before Sam's eyes, but he didn't have to admit it. So far he had not related that part of the story. He had finally filled Dean and Bobby in on the night's events over a wholly inadequate breakfast in bed before the doctors had deemed fit to discharge him. Perhaps it wouldn't have been inadequate if there weren't three of them sharing it. And if Bobby hadn't insisted on taking a sausage for the dog in order to buy its love. It had merely taken the food and wandered straight over to Sam with it still dangling half eaten from its jaws. Sam was banned from bending down to pet it however, and Bobby refused to pick it up for him, and Dean had had to step in and separate the lot of them. Bobby's stern and practical expression was no match for the pout the other to could pull off however, so Dean had eventually relented and handed the dog over. It had a weird sense not to fidget while in Sam's arms, so it wouldn't hurt him.

Sam tore his mind away from that small victory to consider what Dean was telling him. The car was silent. Sam smiled to himself. He'd wondered what Bobby had been up to all evening.

"Are you sure we're not leaving the hospital a little early?" Sam asked instead of admitting his suspicions to Dean. "But then, you used to talk crazy before too. How do we know what's signs Ash's ritual didn't pan out and what's just you?"

"Ha. Ha. Speaking of Ash, did you ever actually ring him?"

"You didn't!"

"What? But, I…"

"Relax. Bobby called him from the car on the way to the hospital." And did a darn sight better job on concentrating on it and the wheel than Sam had. He would never not take those road safety infomercials seriously again. "But it probably wouldn't hurt to give him a call at some point. When we stop." He added pointedly as he saw Dean reaching in his pocket for his phone. "Let him know you're relatively okay."

"Relatively… I swear this car was making some funky rattling noises yesterday morning. Speak to me baby, tell me what's wrong."

"Funky noises." Sam asked innocently, "Was this by any chance during your seven hour nightmare experience?"

Dean's jaw tensed and Sam knew instantly that he had said the wrong thing, hadn't really been taking the time to screen his words before saying them out loud, forgetting that sometimes with this new Dean he needed to do that. Even so, it had been a little insensitive.

Sam sighed into the sudden silence, wishing now that the car _was_ still rattling and clunking so that something else would fill it.

"You know that..." Dean broke off. He was suddenly serious, and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. And when he spoke again he was decidedly not looking at Sam. "You know that you… losing you… it's the only thing…"

"I know." Sam wasn't sure if he was supposed to say more, let Dean know that the feeling was appreciated and reciprocated, and before he could figure it out the moment was over, glossed smoothly over in that way Dean had which often left Sam wondering if they had ever occurred at all.

A throat clear and "Okay… music." And the dial was cranked from loud to Dean Volume in an instant. But the cocky grin he was flashed told Sam that while the conversation was over Dean was not going to go all introspective and blue.

"Don't you want to bask in the silence of a non-broken car for a while?" Sam had to practically yell to be heard.

"No. I need music to banish away the haunting memory of that sound. And to distract me from beating out of you exactly what caused it." He added pointedly.

Sam turned the volume up slightly higher and settled back in his seat, watching the miles of nothing flash by.

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Food had seemed like a good idea half and hour ago, but now Sam sat coughing into his water and trying not to fall asleep face down in the plate in front of him, and Dean's appetite was decreasing, possibly in sync with the number of miles Bobby had by now driven away from them. Dean hadn't realised the security he felt from seeing the other car in his rear-view mirror, providing a protective flank, until it had gone. Alone with Sam under Bobby's watchful gaze was a different thing entirely to being alone and the only thing standing between Sam and the trouble that always seemed to fine him.

But even as he watched Sam's determination not to fall asleep in his seat Dean realised that he was again, already, underestimating Sam's own powers of endurance. Dean had to stop thinking of himself as alone, because Sam was still here, and he was a lot more capable than he was at times willing to let on.

Dean smiled fondly as Sam's eyes flicked open, and a look of momentary confusion filled his face before he seemed to remember where he was and returned his attention sheepishly to the meal in front of him.

They had driven steadily for a couple of hours. Bobby had left them not too long ago, overtaking them with an incessant beeping of his horn and had soon been sucked up by the endless horizon. They would call and check in at regular intervals, a promise Bobby had made Sam continually repeat until he was sure it had been drummed into him, because he didn't want to have to turn the car around and drive madly back to aid them only to find that Sam had just fallen asleep and forgotten to call.

When the waitress came over to clear their things away Dean enquired about local cheap motels. Sam looked at him questioningly.

"You can barely keep your eyes open." Dean told him firmly, surprised at Sam's surprise that they would be stopping so soon.

"I can sleep in the car." Sam protested, and Dean was hit by a sudden, unsettling, burst of deja vu.

"Yeah, well you're not going to."

"Dean, it's barely two o'clock, you're gonna go insane if we stop now. I'll be okay in a few minutes."

"Now you won't, because it's time for these." Dean answered slightly too triumphantly considering he was slapping a pill bottle onto the table in front of his brother. Antibiotics and painkillers. "You're gonna be asleep within minutes of taking them little bro."

Dean had a point. The antibiotics he would be on for another week. It turned out being stabbed in a grimy alley and then completely forgetting to clean the wound had not agreed with Sam's already taxed system, but the infection he had picked up was only mild, they would not have released him otherwise, and should clear itself up in a few days. The painkillers were optional, as and when he needed them, and Sam had been right to think it would be a struggle to stay awake once they were in his system. But no drugs were optional under doctor Dean's regime – Sam had been given them therefore he must need them. He didn't seem to trust Sam's ability to monitor his own pain, the delicate balance he tried to maintain between dosing up before it became too unendurable, and staying awake as long as possible. But he was sleepy anyway, so...

Dean prodded the bottle further towards him with his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Well at least wait until we stop somewhere, otherwise you're gonna be carrying me out of this chair." Sam pointed out. Dean was so protective and vigilant he often forgot to also be practical.

"Okay." He replied grudgingly, as though he were doing Sam some huge favour by agreeing.

In truth Sam was grateful that Dean was willing to stop. It would take them days to get to Bobby's at this rate, and while Sam was more than willing to suck it up and stay in the car he also ached and wanted nothing more than to lie down. Sitting upright and staring out of a window, anticipating Dean's unusually chirpy mood was exhausting. He missed it not being.

He was tired of being tired. He thought he'd left his days of dozing behind him. Before this weekend's events he'd been weary, but he'd been out of bed. They'd had a lazy time since he'd left the hospital. His body just wasn't used to being overly active and he had asked too much of it too soon. He knew he had taken a few backwards steps in his recovery over night, but he also knew that if it had cleared the veil of fear and failure from his brother's eyes then it had been worth it. And he was more aware now of the burden he had been, not because he was weak and Dean had to pick up his slack as he'd feared, but because he was fighting it. He was more willing to accept his own limitations now, he would never fully be able to move on unless he did and Dean had known that.

He didn't question Dean's assistance as they made it back to the car, he was past the point of pushing his brother's concern away, and he knew he was lucky Dean was allowing him to move about at all. And when they finally found somewhere to stop it was Sam that leant on Dean as they made their way into the room. He'd been up for too long and was starting to feel wobbly again. He knew he was in for a gruelling regime of exercise and physical therapy if he was ever going to reacquire the stamina and the muscle he had lost, and while he was eager to get started he wasn't stupid enough to think he was anywhere near approaching ready for anything strenuous or overly active right now. But Sam knew it would be therapy for both of them when he was, in more ways than one. Dean had been almost as inactive as Sam recently, had had weeks of sitting in a chair eating absolute junk or nothing at all, and would probably benefit from a bit of training himself. And Sam knew the physical activity, the involvement, the being able to actually see Sam improving and to have an active role in that, might finally dispel the last of Dean's feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness. The parts relating to this particular episode at least.

Dean had acquired some magazines from a gas station on the way to the motel, and when Sam emerged from the bathroom he seemed unusually excited by the number of channels the TV had to offer. By the time he'd made it all the way through there was every possibility the listings would have changed, and he would have the suspense of flicking all the way through them again.

Sam wasn't insensitive enough to suggest that Dean leave him to nap and go out for an explore. He knew his brother wasn't ready to leave the room just yet, and Sam didn't think he was ready to have Dean wandering too far away from him either, was beginning to regret the number of times in the past that he had tried to convince Dean to get out and about and have a life, when he understood now that his brother had not been emotionally ready for that, and Sam's insistence had only highlighted that fact.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a companionable silence while Dean flicked and Sam dozed. At some point he was roused by the rustling and crunching that he knew was his brother's inability to eat Doritos quietly, and it was entirely possible that he dreamt an entire made for TV movie about a small time high school baseball coach with aspirations of the big time, because that didn't really fit with everything he had thought he knew about Dean. But when he woke with the expectation of being fed the TV was showing a programme on real life high-speed cop-car chases, which made slightly more sense.

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The room was dark and quiet but Sam was fairly certain something had woken him. He sat up slowly waiting for his eyes to adjust or his mind to remember the unfamiliar layout of this particular room before he ventured out of his warm bed into the cold night air.

But his eyes adjusted and everything was still, and Sam had just settled himself back under the covers, resigned to the fact that he was just going slowly crazy, when he heard it again. A low quiet moaning from the other side of the room, one that would have been easily lost if he had not been partly expecting it.

He hesitated, momentarily unsure what to do for the best, but when Dean let out a slightly louder whimper, followed by what was unmistakably the sound of his name, the decision was made for him.

This was three nights in a row that the sound of his brother's dreams had woken him. He was never loud, it was almost as though Dean's desire for emotional privacy stemmed to his nightmares too, and he subconsciously prevented himself from thrashing too violently or screaming too loud. Sam knew he only heard them because his own sleep pattern was so erratic. After sleeping most of the afternoon and evening away that first day after Bobby had left them, he had been awake and forced to endure 'Men and Motors' in silence, because Dean's magazines were the only thing of even slight entertainment value that had been within his reach at the time. Sam had been awake in a quiet room, and so he had heard him. And from that night on he had been expecting it. Had fallen asleep with his ears tuned to the sound of his brother's distress, and now it somehow managed to wake him.

Sam sighed and clambered out of bed. It shouldn't really have been unexpected, but it was slightly unnerving all the same. He couldn't remember a time when Dean had suffered from nightmares in the past. That had always been him. But he knew Dean had never slept easily since he had returned to a bed rather than his uncomfortable hospital chair, couldn't count the number of times since then that he had woken in the night to find Dean hovering. Had thought it odd that his brother was suddenly such an early riser. But until now Sam had never been aware enough to witness the dreams themselves, just their aftermath.

He knew it hadn't been easy for Dean. He had felt for himself some of the emotion that Kane had forced him to endure, and he knew it was so much closer to the surface now than it had been before that night, back when Dean was struggling desperately to repress and ignore his own pain. And Dean was given the unintentional reminder of what he had endured every day, because it was impossible to look at Sam and not see what had happened. While his waking and conscious mind may have been more rationally able to filter through events, and the balance and understanding that had arisen between them since that afternoon on the hospital bed had remained intact, it turned out Dean had little control over his sleeping mind, and all the fears that had plagued him throughout the day before were now reserved for this arena alone.

"Hey, I'm here." Sam responded to another call of his name, settling himself on the edge of Dean's bed, knowing that somehow the weight of his presence there would reach Dean in sleep.

The first night, Dean had woken disorientated and scared to find Sam hovering at his side, and had been too awkward and embarrassed to allow Sam to acknowledge what had happened at all. He had exhausted the rest of his year's quota of emotional sharing during the course of the day before, having to deal with first Bobby and then Sam while he was still in an emotionally fragile state himself. But he had not let Sam leave his side either though, which had seemed contradictory. But that was what late night infomercials were for, and when Sam had woken up practically falling off his brother's bed a couple of hours later he had had the sense to retreat back across the room to his own, and not mention it at all in the light.

But now the dreams were easing, either because Dean's fears were making more sense to him, or because Sam reached him sooner, before they could really kick in in earnest. Now, Sam's voice and his presence alone were enough to reassure Dean that he was going to be okay. That there was no need to relive any of it again. He just smoothed his brother's brow, told him they were both safe now, and waited for the tension to leave him and real sleep to return, standing guard until it did. He didn't know if Dean got to remember the dreams if they didn't wake him, if he was aware of their new nightly ritual, and he never mentioned it himself, just made sure he was available on the of-chance he was needed, which he inevitably was.

They had quickly got into a new routine since Bobby had left them, or as much of a routine as winging it depending on their mood allowed. Sam dictated their pace whether he wanted to, or was even aware of it, or not. He was so used by now to spending hours in the car that he didn't always notice himself that he was getting restless, but Dean had always been able to pick up on the signs that Sam wanted to get out and stretch his legs, or that he was beginning to get uncomfortable sat in the same position for too long. He always had, he had just never before gone out of his way to respond to them.

Occasionally after limited and supervised wanderings Sam was happy to continue, and Dean had also learnt to distinguish between Sam's expressions when he genuinely wanted to get back in the car and when he could think of no worse form of torture. Whether he realised this, or because he decided honesty was the most helpful approach considering where their failure to communicate had left them, by the third day Sam made life easier and just told Dean what he wanted. Dean suspected he had begun to enjoy the slight degree of control this allowed him.

And so the journey that Bobby had done in eight solid hours, pushing the car to its limits, had somehow already taken them four days. Dean was doing all the driving – Sam had offered but his medication warned against allowing him to operate heavy machinery, and if Sam couldn't lift it by himself then the Impala was heavy. Sam didn't like to point out that according to Dean's calculations and strict monitoring regime he also wasn't allowed to drive the laptop or a hardback book. Besides, the last time Sam was behind the wheel he had made her rattle.

Despite Sam's expectations the distance they had covered that first day was rarely matched. This wasn't aided by the fact day two had been spent in bed with the heating on full blast trying to get the shivering under control. To his credit Dean hadn't resumed crisis levels of his fretting, and apart from force feeding him soup at frequent yet unexpected moments throughout the day had remained reasonably calm, given that with a combination of painkillers, his exhaustion and cold symptoms, Sam was not looking or feeling overly pleasant, and had been slightly less than coherent as the day progressed. A full day of rest drugged to the eyeballs seemed to have been exactly what he needed however, and by evening he was more alert and a lot less alarming looking, and Dean felt reassured enough to compile a list of all the things he would do to Sam if it turned out he had given his wonderful older brother his cold. This was a substitute for the real list, which was what he would do if Sam ever did anything as stupid as traipsing around in the middle of a rainstorm in winter without a jacket on again. Or in fact anything that hadn't been properly sanctioned by Dean first.

Dean had always found road trips to be therapeutic, but since they had always been either driving too or away from something supernatural in the past, Sam had always been too focused on that aspect to enjoy the present moment. Now the away was the focus, and with every mile they put between themselves and Kane Sam felt a little more relaxed. While he knew the reprieve Bobby's would grant them would be short lived he was determined to make the most of it. And he would never again underestimate the comfort of just sitting in this car and being aware of Dean's presence next to him, even if it was his too perky singing, the forty minute conversation about correct tool maintenance, or the merits of Jessica Alba in a bikini versus leather that was making him aware Dean was still here.

The extreme tiredness he had been feeling had passed, partly thanks to Dean letting up on force feeding him the extra strength pain-killers, but his energy levels were nowhere near the norm. The coughing had also been got more or less under control, and while it still made the occasional painful appearance the rest of his cold symptoms seemed to have worn them self out during the course of that one intensive day.

But even though Sam was now more awake and mobile Dean was unwilling to extend their daily driving time. Even when they were only a little over an hour away from Bobby's place he had preferred to stop during the afternoon rather than push on, and Sam let him without question. While he knew that Dean was looking forward to the opportunity to relax and not have to worry about anything for a while, he also knew that at the same time Dean was unwilling to relinquish the role he had only recently been able to re-acquire as Sam's sole mother hen. A role Sam was now willing to put up with the hassle of allowing him to perform.

Whether consciously or not, they both knew that the dynamic they had formed while on the road would alter to accommodate life at Bobby's, and Dean wasn't yet willing for his level of responsibility to change. Being at Bobby's would give Sam more stability and lessen his reliance on Dean, and even though he knew this was a good thing, the healthy thing to do, he also liked being allowed to help. It somehow made life simpler to be allowed to slip back into the big brother role so completely, reminded Dean of a happier and less stressful time when they were younger, in this car with their father, when the big decisions were out of his control and his sole focus could be Sam. When Sam had thought nothing of letting it be. Had not yet acquired the strange notion that being more independent was always what Dean needed.

The morning before they arrived they had the longest breakfast Sam had ever experienced. When Dean ordered his fourth cup of coffee Sam finally felt compelled to say something.

"We don't have to go." He offered tentatively. "If you want to stay here we can just stay here, I don't mind."

"What makes you think I don't want to go to Bobby's?" Dean asked, slightly too incredulously.

"Dean, if we stay sitting here much longer it's gonna be lunchtime, and then we'll never leave."

Dean looked about them guiltily as if only just realising he had Sam sitting in an uncomfortable diner seat for way longer than he usually allowed him to sit in the car.

"We don't need to stop. We're doing okay as we are, aren't we?"

"Yeah I know, but…" They needed to stop. Being on the road had been fun but Dean also knew that Sam found it tiring. Whether they stayed at Bobby's or not they would need to find a base soon, give them both time to relax and unwind for a while. And scrap-yard or not Bobby's came with more home comforts and would allow Sam more independence than any motel. Dean would let him wander to the kitchen to make a drink unsupervised. Venturing to Starbucks a block away had required several minutes of quiet fretting and the decision to accompany him.

They would also be able to scrounge Bobby's food.

"It'll be cheaper if we stay there." Dean pointed out practically.

"We perhaps shouldn't tell Bobby that's the only reason we're staying." Sam pointed out with a grin.

"Well yeah. Relax dude, I have some tact." But Sam just laughed even harder at that. "When I need it." He added. "You told him we'd be there this afternoon?"

"Yeah, but I said the same thing yesterday too, so I think he'll believe it when he sees it."

"He mad?" Dean seemed more amused and curious than concerned that they might have upset the other man, when they really would be putting him out by setting up camp in his home.

"Mildly exasperated maybe. But then I just sound all pitiful and he's very understanding about the whole thing."

Dean just shook his head. Sam was the only person he knew who could perform with his puppy dog eyes over the phone.

"He's getting a little concerned though." Sam admitted, shifting in his seat and hoping to at last get Dean moving. He was actually starting to get hungry again being around so much food, and if his stomach started rumbling they would be here for the duration.

He was quite proud that he managed to hold out until they were at least half way back to the car, and it had only taken Dean another twenty minutes to drag him around the store next door for adequate provisions. Only when he was sure that Sam was stocked up and had walked off the inactivity of the morning would Dean finally allow them to get underway.

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Dean was trying to decide whether he wanted to linger over this last stage in the car, really savour the road trip atmosphere, or whether he wanted to floor it. Who knew when he would be taking the car out on a journey longer than the nearest supermarket. Perhaps he should let her have her freedom while she could.

From the way Sam sat laughing quietly to himself in the passenger seat Dean was fairly sure the dilemma had expressed itself on his face too. But he still hadn't got over the relative novelty of hearing Sam laugh, and if this was the biggest decision he faced in life at the moment he supposed they were lucky, so he would let his brother's silent mocking slide. He grinned evilly across at Sam causing a slight squirm of unease. He gave it two days at Bobby's before the novelty wore off. Sam was only going to get stronger, and Dean would have to wean himself off these new unnatural levels of niceness and tolerance he had discovered himself exhibiting of late.

To say he had been expecting them for the last four days they somehow managed to take Bobby by relative surprise. He was round the back of the house tinkering under a truck when they got there, but was alerted to their presence by the sound of victorious barking, and the fact that has assistant was no longer trying to squeeze under the car with him to see what the fuss was about under here, but was tearing away from him with more energy than it had exhibited in days.

Bobby emerged just in time to see the brother's round the corner of the house, their eyes lighting up simultaneously, Dean's at the sight of the car Bobby was working on, Sam at the ball of fur that had just collided with his ankles and nearly knocked him on his back.

"Careful." Dean shouted at them both, flinging an arm out to steady his brother. They were both too involved with a bizarre game of tug-of-war with Sam's shoelace to pay any attention to him however, and with a disgusted sigh Dean left them to it to greet Bobby. If Sam ended up on the floor they would secretly have both got what they wanted, which was Sam in a position from which he could legitimately stay and play.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten where I lived." Bobby called out genially, striding over to meet him. His tone was light but his eyes were searching. Dean didn't flinch away from his gaze, letting Bobby take his fill. He looked him straight in the eye knowing the older man was merely concerned, wanting to reassure himself that their delay had not been caused by anything more serious than Dean's reluctance to get out of bed in a morning conflicting with Sam's desire to get back in one around mid afternoon. With their differing sleeping patterns he supposed it was a miracle they ever managed to get anything done at all.

Dean didn't appear to be hiding anything however, and was yet to retreat behind his walls, and the boys had been true to their word and called each evening to update him on their slow progress. Admittedly he had been slightly worried that second night with a dazed and slightly confused Sam on the other end of the phone, who seemed to remember there was some reason he had been ordered to call in but couldn't for the life of him remember why. Dean had been on hand to rescue the phone from his brother's germs, and after Sam's uncoordinated grip had dropped it and momentarily lost Bobby under the bed, he had been able to adequately explain the delay. Bobby hadn't really needed the explanation though. The sound of them bickering as Dean was trying to convince Sam to give him the phone, despite Sam's obvious sickness, had been all Bobby needed to _know_ they were going to be fine.

Bobby greeted Sam with a warm clap on the shoulder. He was looking better then when Bobby had last seen him. Was more alert and had a lot more colour, and while he still looked frail and moved gingerly Bobby pushed back his natural instinct for concern, taking his cue from Dean and treating Sam normally.

Sam wasn't stupid, he knew he was being assessed, but he and Dean had come to the silent understanding that if Sam did nothing that caused concern, attempted nothing that he had been forbidden from carrying out, then his physical limitations rarely needed to be mentioned. He could tell that Bobby had been apprised of this arrangement.

But there was one physical limitation that Sam was quite keen to have acknowledged, but the two other men were already heading into the house talking enthusiastically about Bobby's latest salvage effort.

The little dog was still trying desperately to attract Sam's attention. He had been abandoned and had to put up with this new master for five whole days. It had been overjoyed to find that Sam had returned to collect it, but its barks of joy were fast turning into whines of hurt and distress at Sam's half hearted return greeting. While he wanted nothing more than to scoop the little guy into his arms and reassure him that he was still doing everything he could to subtly work on Dean as far as keeping him was concerned, he hardly thought that would be the best opening for their stay at Bobby's. Dean had been fairly relaxed about Sam's injury in recent days, because Sam had never done anything to really draw attention to it, outside of the fun he had ordering Dean to fetch and carry wholly unnecessary items for him. But if he bent down to pet the dog now he knew how much it would hurt, and he knew he would be back under heavy duty movement watch, and quiet possibly banned from going near the dog at all. He didn't think Dean would go as far as to get rid of it, remove the temptation, but it wasn't worth the risk.

He tried explaining this, he really did, but the puppy was having none of it. The only thing it seemed to be aware of was how badly it wanted its ears scratched, and how little Sam was doing to fulfil that need. So with a last disgusted look in his direction and a confused whimper it tore off after the other two, leaving Sam standing alone in the yard feeling unbearably sad. Dean had teased him for his level of emotional attachment to the dog, and he was prepared to admit to the possibility the medication and stress of the last month had left him emotionally vulnerable, but watching the little form disappear through the front door was just plain painful.

Dean and Bobby were huddled at the kitchen table cradling coffee mugs by the time Sam joined them. The dog was sat underneath the table staring up expectantly at its underside as though it was the most fascinating sight in the world, and it paid no attention to Sam as he came in. Bobby's mouth twitched slightly in amusement but no other mention was made of their apparent falling out.

"Shouldn't a guard dog technically be outside guarding something?" Dean complained when it moved to sit on his foot.

"Like I have any control." Bobby signed. "Take's after his namesake. Although he has spent most of the last few days staring out at the road waiting for you."

Dean tried to ignore the fact the dog naming situation had yet to be changed, and seemed to think this piece of information deserved a scratch, but he missed the look of triumph that was flashed in Sam's direction as he did do.

There was only so much car talk Sam could take. If they had been talking about something slightly more serious or relevant then Sam would maybe have fought the way his eyes were beginning to droop. But he was a fool if he expected any slight variation in his posture or mood to go unnoticed in a house of hunters, and it wasn't long before he was being nudged gently towards bed, or at least somewhere more comfortable than a kitchen table.

Dean took that as his cue to fetch their things in from the car, and Bobby escorted Sam through the house to find somewhere to lay his long frame down. He had cleaned out one of his junk rooms in preparation for their stay – he'd had almost four full days to do so – so Sam was faced with a choice. He could take a room to himself or he could share with Dean.

It was kind of Bobby to have gone to the effort of trying to provide them both with their own space, but Sam found himself wishing that he hadn't. At 23 he would rather not have been forced to admit that he would rather share a room with his brother. Under normal circumstances he would probably have jumped at the chance of having a little privacy for a while, but he and Dean had barely been out of each other's company for a year now. And despite their best efforts these were still not normal circumstances. So he opted for the double room. He knew Dean would have made the same choice, but Dean was obsessive and neurotic, so perhaps that wasn't a recommendation.

His own still slightly clingy feelings aside Sam knew it would be easier on Dean to have him within sight. It would help him sleep easier, and if he did wake from nightmares the torture of having to decide whether to suck it up and go back to sleep or creep across the house to check on Sam could break him. Having Sam asleep in the next bed would be easier on both of them. And it would allow Sam to listen out for the nightmares he never acknowledged he heard.

Sam took the opportunity of having Dean out of the room to ask if Bobby had been able to come up with anything specific to destroy the artefact that had once hoarded his brother's life force. He had been going to go with fire, but if Bobby had come across anything more effective…

"I've got something in mind." He answered cryptically. "But not for today. Rest for a while. You've got today and most of tomorrow to unwind."

"Most of tomorrow?" Sam was perturbed.

"We'll do it tomorrow night." Bobby answered. "Nice and symmetrical, and what better way to spend a Saturday night. We could make a weekend of it."

Sam was staring at him slightly concerned.

"Okay, so it's not going to take that long. But I've made you an appointment in town for tomorrow afternoon. Have those stitches seen to and get you checked over, of course I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to cancel the damn thing. We can get home and destroy the damn thing afterwards. It'll be therapeutic."

Sam just smiled and shook his head, but Bobby was right. He didn't want to ruin the last day of their week of meandering by having to worry about it now, and it would perhaps be more healing to get all the reminders of last weekend over in one brutal day.

But still… he wanted to know about Kane….

"That can wait until tomorrow too." Bobby said, anticipating Sam's next question. It wasn't an answer, but it was reassuring none the less. If Kane had resurfaced and was gunning for their doorstep then Bobby would probably mention it sooner rather than later. It was only a matter of time, but Sam was more than willing to wait.

Dean spent the remainder of the afternoon wandering around the salvage yard and tinkering with Bobby while Sam lazed on the couch in peace and quiet, dozing with a collection of books within easy reach if the mood so took him.

Every so often Dean or Bobby or the puppy would poke their heads through the door and see if he needed anything, and Sam couldn't help but think that if they co-ordinated their concern a little more instead of individually taking it upon themselves to check on him, then the afternoon would have been a lot more restful for all of them. But they were new at this, and it was technically the first time since Sam had been hurt that he had spent an entire afternoon out of his brother's sight. Somehow knowing that they were both at Bobby's, within the same physical – and no doubt mystically protected – boundary, meant the slight separation didn't count. And Dean checked on him often enough to keep his paranoia in check.

The puppy seemed slightly more forgiving now that Sam was lying on a couch and was much closer to its level, and even grudgingly allowed Sam to reach over and tickle its stomach on occasion, as payment for its coming in to check he was still here. It still hadn't forgiven him for abandoning it enough to spend the whole of the sunny afternoon inside though, and Sam found he couldn't really blame the little guy for wanting to explore in the sunshine. Whatever the other two were doing with that car was probably a lot more interesting to watch than Sam sat with his books, so it was comforting to know it still felt the need to pop in and see him at all.

Occasionally he could hear chatter and the sound of laughter coming in through the open window, and it warmed him. In the end he just put down his book and listened to them work. A part of him wanted to go out and join them, but he also wanted to give Dean some time to relax alone for a while. If Sam was there then Dean would subconsciously return to hovering mode, so Sam kept his on curiosity in check to allow him some time off.

To Dean's evident consternation Bobby insisted on cooking, knowing that it probably wasn't since the last time they were here that either of them had experienced a home cooked meal. But when Sam told him not to go to too much trouble Bobby just looked at him like he was insane and muttered something about not being a hotel, before banning them both from the kitchen so they couldn't put him off.

The dog stayed religiously as close to the kitchen as it could while Bobby was in there, leaving Sam and Dean to amuse themselves, but it turned out it was an equal opportunist as far as meal times were concerned. To be fair it did seem to pick up on the fact that Sam was yet to regain the full force of his appetite, and hovering by his side was perhaps the best place to stand.

Bobby muttered the occasional comment about someone needing to properly train their dog, but at the happy look on Sam's face at being so obviously, if temporarily, forgiven he decided not to push the need for discipline just yet.

By the time night had fallen enough for Sam to feel able to justify going to bed the puppy seemed to have completely forgotten its grudge, and it followed happily at Sam's heels as he made his way to their room, completely ignoring the way Dean was silently opening and closing his mouth in protest.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Restoring the Balance**

**By Floralia**

SUMMARY: The brothers struggle to restore their equilibrium after Sam is injured on a hunt, but obviously something supernatural gets in the way.

DISCLAIMER: Same as before.

Okay, for the last time: thank you, thank you, thank you to everybody who made it this far. I've enjoyed writing this way more than my previous 'no fanfick' snobbery cares to admit. The TV programme they are watching at the end is a real documentary that I stumbled across while channel hopping one day and got mysteriously sucked into. I'm not quite sure of the logic behind Sam having the same problem, but it's in there now. An honestly, who can resist a baby panda?

What can I say? Apologies in advance. I tried so hard to be strong and tow an emotional line… Sighs and hangs her head in shame.

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Dean would have felt happily vindicated in his objections to the dog sleeping in their room if not for the fact that when it decided it was restless at 5am it wasn't just Sam that it woke. In fact Dean suspected it was doing its best _not_ to wake Sam, and being entertained by Dean while Sam slept was a perfectly suitable substitution.

The early start aside they had a restful morning, and it wasn't until lunchtime that Bobby even mentioned Sam's doctor's appointment again. Sam hadn't brought it up at all, and Bobby got the impression he hadn't wanted Dean brooding on it all day so had followed his lead. Even if they were only going so that Sam could be told he was doing okay, and to have it drummed into him that he was to take it easy, he knew that it would unnerve Dean slightly to be there. He would have suggested Dean stay behind it if he didn't know that the thought of his brother without him in a hospital being prodded and poked would have driven Dean to a place beyond despair.

Dean tried not to show it, knew that it was only a check up and that Sam really did need to go, but the news that he would be losing Sam to a hospital again so soon, no matter how temporarily, was a crushing weight. He hadn't so much forgotten Sam's orders and promise to return to one within a week as blocked it out of his mind.

The sight of the sterile building looming up in front of him was suddenly oppressive, and Dean kept finding that his legs didn't what to continue with their orders of the forward motion necessary to propel him inside. Sam had been glancing at him out of the corner of his eye the whole way here, and had now taken to poking him in the arm and offering him a slight smile every time Dean faltered, in a way Dean wasn't sure if was supposed to be reassuring, endearing, or just plain annoying. But whatever the intention it had the desired effect and allowed him to forget his trepidation for the few brief seconds he was made aware that his brother was still here.

Bobby had accompanied them yet again, and while both felt bad for dragging him away from however it was he managed to fill his days when he wasn't babysitting them, each was glad of the additional support. Dean would never admit to it, but even he was aware of the fact that if at any point they took Sam away for tests and forced Den to endure the wait for him alone, he would implode. Having Bobby around would ensure he fought for calm, and remind him that Sam was as alive and annoying as he had ever been.

As it turned out Dean was allowed to hover with Sam in his sight for their entire stay, and it was Bobby that paced nervously alone so he could give Sam some privacy. Having Dean with him was natural, but Bobby hovering too would be plain weird, and throw in the doctors, nurses, and other hospital staff that were wandering in and out of his room and Sam was beginning to feel like a specimen of some kind.

But at least Dean was on hand to hear the doctor's instructions, because Sam wasn't sure if he would fully trust Sam's 'version' of what the doctors had told him, even if he had copied their wording exactly.

More questions, a physical exam, another ultrasound to check that no tear had been missed and was slowly bleeding to a degree that might now be visible, and Sam was referred to an outpatients clinic, who would continue to monitor and advise for the rest of his stay in the area. That meant another wait on uncomfortable plastic chairs, and a newfound respect for Dean and his ability to have endured them for so long, along with a slight lump in his throat at the fact he had never once heard his brother complain or even question the fact this torture device was his home from home. More prodding, a long list of instructions about medication, diet, exercise he could, should, and must under no circumstances perform, a long list of banned activities, and another prodding later, and Sam was free to go. And utterly exhausted. And it was a good thing Dean had been with him because he had stopped being able to fully hear and process information a long time before they finally felt willing to let him leave.

Sam dozed on the drive back to Bobby's looking slightly bemused, and Dean was beginning to look anxious again. The stress of the hospital visit had left him drained, and Bobby knew they were both a lot more put out by what the doctors had told them than they were willing to let on, even to each other.

They weren't idiots. They both knew Sam had been hurt a lot more badly that they were perhaps willing to acknowledge, and at times they even left Bobby wondering if he had been told the full story. But when he was away from the hospital and taking it relatively easy, and improving every day, the focus was on Sam now and in the future rather than on Sam as he had been then. That was an image they did their best not to dwell on.

But it had been dwelt on all afternoon. Discussed in detail and continually referenced, and while they might both have already known it to be true, it was a different thing entirely to have it drummed into you from a variety of different view points that there would be no quick fix for this. Sam's health for Dean was entirely relative, and when you compared him now to as he had been while still in the hospital, it could only make his spirits soar. But when you compared him to the Sam he had lived with before the attack had occurred, then Dean felt sick. He was beginning to appreciate for the first time just how much of a way to go they had. Exactly what the next month would hold in store. And the more the doctors had talked the more anxious glances Sam had thrown in his direction, and it annoyed Dean slightly to realise he was trying to gauge Dean's reaction to what they were being told, and that each new glance was laced with a little more apology.

Dean had heard this all before. He had questioned and questioned until he had thought the doctors might actually start avoiding him in the corridor, obsessively needing to know every detail of Sam's recovery. They were telling him nothing new. But while Sam had also been told this before, Dean doubted that he had really been able to take it in. He knew that was what his presence at all discussions and the insistence Sam return for follow up exams had partially been in aid of. But Sam had heard it this time, and he looked overwhelmed. Everything that had seemed like a positive step that would aid and bring them closer only a few hours ago, suddenly appeared as an overwhelming hurdle, and Sam was too tired now to know if he would ever be able to clear the top of it.

It had been such an obvious choice 24 hours ago, but now Sam wanted nothing more than to have his own room, preferably one with a lock on the door, so he could squirrel himself away and never have to come out and face the world. He knew he was being muttered about, knew that Dean and Bobby were exchanging glances of concern, but that just made him want to hide away even more. And it annoyed him because he didn't understand what he was suddenly feeling so emotional about. He just knew that he was drowning in it.

Less than three seconds. It had taken him longer to be aware that it had happened than the actual incident itself had been. One tiny moment of inattention, one stupid mistake, and they would be months coming back from it. He _knew_ that. He had known that all along, so why was it only now that he _felt_ it to be true?

The life that they had been living was now out of the question, and it was all they had. All Dean had ever had, and all he knew how to be.

He knew that he wasn't alone in this, knew that Dean would never leave him, would never begrudge him the time he needed. But he also hated that that was true. That Dean would put who he was on hold for him without question, that a pointless three seconds of his life could have such a dramatic ripple effect.

He also hated that he was being so irrational. He knew that he was. Knew that they had talked about this. Knew that he had been looking forwards to the challenges that now seemed beyond him, and a part of him still was. He was too tired for his emotions to make any sense, was beginning to feel dangerously close to losing control, and the fear of doing so, of putting Dean through that now, didn't pull him back but pushed him even closer to the edge.

He wasn't sure what he wanted to do. The two most appealing choices were to either tuck himself away in a corner somewhere and cry until the world made sense again, or to take so many painkillers and hold up in bed that it didn't matter what the world did because he would no longer feel it. For the short term at least. But neither of them were an option. Not really. Not while Dean was still recovering from the trauma of having to go near a hospital ward again. Not while the artefact was still intact.

Bobby had been right. They needed to get rid of it tonight so that the only reminder of this whole escapade was Sam himself, and his own private misgivings that Kane was yet to leave his life. It needed to happen, and he needed to be a part of it. Dean needed him to be a part of it, and he could only hope that it would be as cathartic as Bobby seemed to expect.

Hours of prowling in a hospital ward, of being poked and examined, of having no place of comfort other than those stupid orange plastic chairs had left Sam feeling beyond sore. The Impala had been a chariot of luxury compared to that, and he had drifted in and out of sleep with ease the whole way back, refusing to open his eyes even when he was awake because he could tell from their low tone that Dean and Bobby were talking about him even if he couldn't make out the words, and he found some masochistic pleasure in playing the martyr and putting up with being talked about in silence.

So when they got back he was even more stiff and uncomfortable. He was in pain, his head was buzzing with the presence of everything it had been asked to take in, and there was this heavy solid lump in his throat that he couldn't seem to shift. A pressure behind his eyes that he would not give in to; that he didn't have the time to acknowledge.

This was the moment his most recent supply of extra strength painkillers had been designed for. He had taken them for less. But they made him sleep and they didn't have time for that now. They left him emotionally drained and unpredictable, and the thought of that right now was frightening. So he would settle for the regular kind, and he would watch their last link to Kane burn.

"Hey." Dean grabbed his arm as he made his way back into the house; turning him around to face him, and the level of concern Sam saw in his older brother's eyes almost crumbled his resolve. So he broke the gaze. Refused to make the eye contact he knew Dean wanted. Dean needed him to be strong. He wanted so badly to be strong for him, and he needed to be able to understand his own mind before he shared it. So he gently shrugged Dean's hand off, and with a shaky smile of apology turned and continued his walk away.

Dean watched him go feeling as though he had just been hit. One powerful blow straight to the stomach that left him breathless and sick, and it was all the more horrifying because it was Sam that had dealt it. He could literally see Sam hiding himself away behind his walls, locking his emotions away from Dean so completely that he had never felt so alone with Sam in his sight before, while the memory of his touch still lingered on Dean's fingertips. Never.

He was reminded of a toddler sat on the floor in front of him hiding behind a duplo wall they had just built, and Dean had always hated it. Always had to fight the insane urge to knock that wall down and sweep Sam onto his lap so there was nothing obstructing his view. But even as a baby Sam had liked to hide, and Dean tried grimly to hold on to the knowledge that he liked being found even better.

Even the puppy's antics couldn't raise a smile, and Dean knew that it only reminded Sam that he couldn't bend down and reciprocate the gesture of friendship. So Dean took pity on the little guy and picked it up, tapped Sam wordlessly on the shoulder and thrust it into his arms.

The smile he got in return was small but genuine, and it comforted Dean to see that Sam carried the little creature around with him for the rest of the day, like some kind of warm fury security blanket. And nothing in the world could have made the puppy happier than that.

He had been warned about this, told to watch out for the signs, but had never really believed he would see them in Sam. Sure, he was almost always feeling guilty about something, and seemed to like to brood, but hovering this close to depression was something different entirely. Sam had been offered someone to talk to, but Dean had always been enough in the past. Even when they weren't communicating he had somehow been enough. Or perhaps in some twisted way it had been because of that. While Dean was having so much trouble controlling his emotions, perhaps Sam had been too preoccupied to acknowledge his own.

Dean sighed, running a hand wearily through his hair. Things were beginning to spiral out of his reach again. Things that were far too important to let slide.

"Just give him some time to filter it through." Bobby consoled him. He could tell Dean was on the verge of bolting after his brother, even if his legs looked like they would soon refuse to hold him, but if Dean gave chase Bobby was afraid Sam would give in to his natural instincts to run.

Bobby had not mentioned to Dean that Kane's artefact was yet to be destroyed. He wasn't sure if Dean even knew he still had it. As far as Bobby was aware he had never asked what had become of it. He was beginning to think they might be better off leaving it for now, allowing Sam some time to himself to process things. Or would it be better to ensure that Sam wasn't left alone to dwell? This could offer the perfect distraction. Dean would know more fully what Sam might need, but he didn't want to raise the issue with Dean unless it was followed by a 'and we're gonna destroy it now'.

Thankfully it was Sam that made the decision for him, puppy still rapped up in his arms and tucked under his chin, stiller than a puppy had the right to be, as though picking up on its master's mood.

"You sure you want to do this now?"

But Sam just nodded and Bobby took comfort from the determined light in his eyes. He wasn't fooled. He knew Sam had a level of anxiety regarding Kane that wasn't fully explained by their dealings. Sam had been lucky; he had managed to sneak out of the house while Kane was distracted. Kane had confronted him, but the vampire had interrupted any altercation they may have been about to have, and Sam had left, and Dean was safe. And that story didn't quite match the mist that clouded Sam's eyes whenever the merchant was mentioned.

But if Bobby had picked up on it then Dean would too, and Sam would not be able to horde his secrets forever. He didn't doubt that some of the weight Sam felt would leave him when that day came.

If Dean questioned the order to go out back and dig a hole to match a specific set of dimensions, he didn't display it out loud, which Sam found vaguely irritating. But then he supposed that he had rarely been out of Dean's sight or earshot for so long that if he knew what was going on it was perhaps stupid to think Dean did not.

Bobby had prepared pretty much everything they needed during the four days he had been waiting, but Dean had been given his task to do and he sensed that Sam needed to be given something to do to keep his mind active, so he went over the ritual he had found that would ensure the device had shut down, and would both purify and destroy the cloth it had been made from.

Sam's natural curiosity when confronted with a musty old text, an array of strange smelling herbs and other ingredients, did something to pull him out of his shell, but his posture never reached relaxed. He wouldn't sit but continued to hover uncertainly, peering over Bobby's shoulder as he worked but never suggesting he actively participate himself, and he was still clinging to the puppy in his arms like it could shield him from all the worlds' ills. The two eyes that peered down at him told Bobby that they would if they could.

"What does the sage do?" he enquired in a small voice, as though reluctant to admit that he was becoming intrigued despite himself.

"It forms a protective barrier. We're gonna scatter the whole lot in a ring around the pit Dean's digging. It will stop anything residual from crossing over, escaping the cleansing."

Sam nodded his understanding and approval.

"What's the cloves for?"

"It concentrates the rest of the ingredients. Keeps the focus."

Another pause during which there was just the sound of Bobby's pestle and mortar and Sam's slightly laboured breathing.

"Why the lavender?... Bobby?... Why…?"

"'Cos it's gonna smell bad." The older man admitted shifting uncomfortably, glad that his discomfort had caused a mild grin.

Bobby was actually glad he had gone to the effort of doing this before. The properties would be stronger if the ingredients were fresh, and it was clearly working as a tool of distracting Sam from his brooding, but it would have been a challenge to have concentrated on the process and Sam's questioning at the same time if he was not already familiar with what he was doing. He knew Sam only wanted to learn and be able to help, but he also knew how potentially distracting the action could be.

"What about that?" Sam chimed in at last. He had read the ritual thoroughly and thought he could account for everything that Bobby had scattered across every work surface. Everything but the plate of mince in the corner that the dog was becoming increasingly keen to investigate.

"That would be dinner." Bobby admitted at last, knowing that would have put Sam off asking any further questions for a while. And when Bobby had finished grinding together the powders he needed to perform the rite effectively, he started on the meat, and Sam had to drift outside to see how Dean and his hole were getting on because the dog was starting to drool.

He found Dean sitting staring into the hole he had dug as though disappointed it did not contain the buried treasure he had been expecting. He looked up as Sam approached but didn't say anything, and Sam merely raised his eyebrows and stared fixedly into the hole himself.

"What am I looking at?" he asked at last.

"You tell me. I just dug the damn thing."

Dean wanted desperately to say something. To have some magic words that would let his brother know that he wasn't alone. But he didn't know how to state the obvious without sounding harsh and impatient.

"How are you…?"

"Dean…" so soft and weary that it practically answered the question itself, but Dean knew what was coming and it was possible it was the only thing that would have angered him. He'd have taken an 'I'm fine' with more grace.

"Apologise to me and you're going in that hole." And Sam was taken aback by the level of impatience and frustration in Dean's voice.

"Sorry." It was automatic, and Dean stood with a growl of irritation and actually made to advance on him.

"No... I just." Sam backed out of the way to put the hole between them. "I was apologising for feeling the need to apologise. I know that… Well. Whatever you're gonna say, I know. Don't think I don't…" he sighed, eyes suddenly searching the sky as though he expected the clouds to be able to show him what to say. But he found no answers and gave up, shaking his head, looking suddenly small and lost, hiding his face in the dog's back so his brother wouldn't have to see the way his lip was suddenly trembling. But his darting eyes were betraying his need to escape again. He'd just decided to give up and flee when Dean's voice held him back.

"Tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

It was as much of a plea as Dean would ever issue. And that was what it all came down to in the end. The same question asked in a thousand different ways over the last year, and Sam was no nearer being able to answer it now as he was lying on that bed watching Jessica burn.

Sam just shrugged, but Dean really did deserve and answer.

"Too much." He admitted at last. "It's mostly noise."

"Want to share it?"

Sam screwed his face up and nodded, but with astounding effort and a calming breath he managed to get himself under control, and when Dean advanced towards him he merely retreated again, shifting the puppy's weight so it formed more of a shield.

"Sa…"

"Later. I just… I can't now. I don't really…" he paused, and as he seemed to be deep in thought Dean waited patiently for him to get out what he was trying to say. "No. I think that's as eloquent as it's going to get." Sam admitted with a rueful smile. "Get back to me?" he offered.

Dean nodded his understanding, again ruffling the top of the puppy's head as a substitute for Sam's, but his brother seemed to understand the gesture anyway. Sam would tell him when he was able to.

"I'll be here." Dean promised. He knew that Sam knew that, knew that was what his fumbled apology had been trying to express, but he wanted to assure those yo-yoing emotions of that fact none the less.

"Bobby says there's a barbeque in the back shed, and there's some gasoline in the garage and some camphor oil in a draw under the wrenches. I don't think the three things are necessarily connected," he added, noting Dean's look of concern.

"Nothing surprises me any more."

Dean set up the barbeque and helped Bobby drag out provisions, which included a couple of flowery deck chairs the origins of which Dean was keen to know, while Sam and the puppy supervised. Sam had been carrying it around for over an hour now, but when Dean offered to take it from him and put it down two sets of slightly scandalised eyes greeted the suggestion.

"Isn't he getting heavy?"

Sam shrugged guiltily.

"Sam." Sometimes firm was the only way to deal with little brothers

"He's warm." Sam admitted reluctantly, which was when Dean realised he'd positioned it across his newly stitch free side like a living, breathing heat-pack.

"You've had enough of him you tell me." Dean told him sternly. Firm and amused was never a productive mix when dealing with this particular little brother.

"And I can keep him 'til then?" Sam asked with just the right degree of innocence and hope that Dean had to walk away rather than answer.

The puppy gave a whine at Dean's retreating back, and he would have sworn it was followed by a whispered 'I know, I'm working on it'.

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Bobby could feel a palpable shift in the atmosphere as he uncovered the soul storing device he had produced from one of his numerous store cupboards, and placed it in the hole Dean had dug ready to receive it.

It had been a long day and dusk had fallen while they worked, so it was in the half light that he got Sam to scatter the compound he had watched Bobby make in a neat ring around the edge of the hole, with a light covering over the device itself.

It was Dean that doused it with oil and added the flame itself, and he did so without a word. There was no joke or insult he could find that could detract from what it had done to him.

They watched it burn in silence. Bobby lingered to one side watching them, not wanting to intrude yet wanting to be on hand in case any kind of intervention was called for. But the device was dormant; he had no doubt that it would be.

They took a few shuffling steps, involuntarily moving closer together until their shoulders were almost touching, and while neither said a word it was clear how much support they each received from just knowing that the other was near. Sam even shifted the puppy he was still holding, moving it slightly out to Dean so that its protective warmth now partially shielded the both of them.

Dean acknowledged the gesture with a half-hearted scratch but it wasn't enough, would never be enough, and he suddenly wanted to be able to hold Sam as tightly as his brother was holding that dog. To rap him up in his arms and take comfort from his borrowed warmth, and he hated that he couldn't do it. It wasn't that Sam would have minded. Dean did. That was a level of need that he would not show. Didn't even know how to go about initiating. And it would hurt him. If Dean let go and clung to Sam, then in order to make any difference, to ease the cold that was lodged inside him, then he would afraid that Sam would crumble under the force of it.

He had known this task was still before them, but he had focused on it with all the calm detachment he could muster. Just another job. But as soon as he had seen it that calm had vanished. He had picked that thing up. He had carried it around with him for hours. He had handed it to Sam and left him alone with it, and he knew that if he had got back to that room only a few seconds later… If the dog had not been there and his barking had not attracted their attention, then Sam would be gone. There was no way he would have been able to do what Sam had done. His brother had had a head start as far as research was concerned, but _if_ Dean had been able to leave his side he would have taken the gun's blazing approach, the same one he had taken with Kane in the alley, and it would have had the same effect. And he had _handed_ that thing to Sam, and he had walked away. And it was the dog, not Dean, that was the only reason that Sam was alive. He wondered if Sam knew that. Wondered if that was where part of the attachment lay.

He breathed deeply. He would not let it conquer him. Would not let it take him any lower than it already had. Would not, could not, lose himself to those memories again. Not while Sam was so near, so close he could hear his breathing; feel the brush of his arm against his own as he shifted beside him.

And the longer it burnt the more the pressure eased, and the more he could focus on tomorrow rather than on everything that had passed. And even with the flames so close it didn't hurt so much to breathe again and he felt his shoulders loosen, felt the last of the tension, some newly acquired through the course of the day and others, hidden portions he hadn't known he had squirreled away, draining out of him. And he could smile into the flames because they had not taken who he was. He still had that, and there was still so much left to do with him.

Sam was grateful for the lavender. Not only was the concoction Bobby had produced much more potent when it was smouldering, but the fabric was still crusty and stiff with Dean's blood. They were burning Dean's blood and that was the only thing he could focus on, and he had to train his nose to pick out the lavender he knew was there just to block it out.

It was so small, so worthless looking, and Sam couldn't help but be angry that it was this that had so nearly taken his brother down. Of all the unearthly creatures and scenarios they encountered, a piece of cloth with some symbols on it did not deserve to be able to touch him. And so he stood staring into the fire with his brother at his side trying desperately not to think of the last time they had done this. So close to here. Watching more of his family burn.

But it was over now. It only had power over them if they let it. And if Sam could… w_hen_ Sam got his spiralling emotions under control then it didn't need to be dwelt on ever again.

The fire was beginning to die out and they shifted simultaneously, breaking their eyes from its hold. Sam gave the puppy a swift kiss of thanks on the top of its head and held it out to Dean, who surprised it with a hug of his own before lowering it gently to the floor. Now that it was over Sam felt less need for his security blanket, and he was suddenly aware of another scent making itself known over the ash and burning herb fumes.

"Food!" Dean informed the little dog enthusiastically, and the pair wandered over to investigate what Bobby was doing.

But Bobby moved the plate away from him, and ignoring the disapproving frown this evoked he ploughed on anyway. There was one last part of the tale to clear up before he would let them eat.

"I didn't go to the cabin." He informed them, "But I know people who did. The place was deserted. There was no sign of Kane or the vampire. No bodies. But they did have at least a day to clean up their mess."

"You think he's still alive?" Sam asked. It didn't really matter, _he_ did, but maybe there would be some comfort in having his suspicions confirmed or denied.

"They found the basement lab. It was in a pretty poor state. Most of it was in ruins. There was some evidence of a fire but it was probably left much as it had been after they'd got through with each other. Even if he was alive I don't think Kane would have worried too much about someone stumbling on it and having a rummage through. He was probably counting on it. One last bit of mischief. There's nothing to tie the cabin to him, nothing official. Nothing that would be accepted by anyone not in our line of work."

He broke off, watching Sam closely as he continued. "Several shelves had been cleared. Not just scattered on the floor cleared, but deliberate. And there were certain items, charms and the like, that a guy like Kane would have that simply weren't there. They actually found and inventory. And there are some holes."

"Wouldn't the general destruction account for that?" Dean asked.

"Some of it. But if the discrepancies were noticeable among that much mess…"

"The stuff that was taken… What did it do? Are there any connections between them..?" Sam managed to keep the trepidation he was feeling from reaching his voice.

"You wondering if he's got something specific in mind?"

"Does he?"

"It's probable that he just took the most valuable items. Or the most portable. If he was pushed for time – he must have known people would be coming to check out the damage after you got away – I doubt he had much more than covering his tracks in mind."

It was a statement but it came out more like a question, a gentle prodding to get Sam to admit to what was troubling him. But Sam just nodded his understanding of Bobby's logic and kept quiet. Dean watched the interaction silently. He didn't like the idea there was something else they were trying to keep from him. The artefact had been destroyed and there was no need to protect him any longer. But it seemed that Bobby was equally as out of the loop on this, and Dean wasn't really sure what he was alluding to. What Sam had done to make Bobby vaguely mistrustful. But he knew the look in his brother's eyes and it said the conversation was over, and Bobby responded to it with a nod of his own and moved aside to leave the way to the food he had set out clear. As Sam moved past him Dean and Bobby shared a glance. Bobby could stand down now and not have to bring it up again, because Dean was on the case.

Sam honestly didn't know why he was so reluctant to bring up all that Kane had told him. It would have to come out eventually, Kane would see to that. But Sam would take whatever small reprieve was offered him. They were just getting their lived back on track, and Sam couldn't bear to give Dean another reason to hover. Another reason to look at him any differently, to be any more concerned about where Sam would potentially, if inadvertently, lead them than he already was.

And it was also paralysingly private. A guilty secret he couldn't bare to have known. It was in his blood. That was something over which he had absolutely no control. And now he knew that, he could convince himself he could feel it too. A constant grain of unease. A mild tingling from deep within him. An itch he had no idea how to scratch. And the fear of that would be private until Kane made it otherwise. There was too much shame to want to share. Physical proof that whether he wanted it or not the thing inside him could cause harm.

His blood. So much of it had been spilled. There had been a time not so long ago when his body had been supported by more of someone else's than his own. But that had made no difference. And he couldn't bear to share the nagging suspicion that they would all have been better off if it had stayed there. If he had just bled out in that alley then they would have been spared whatever was to come. But he couldn't bear to share that thought out loud. Couldn't bear to see the look in Dean's eyes if he thought for a second that maybe that was true.

But he had lived with secrets before. There was a special corner of his mind where he stored them. Where this new one could find a home until circumstances changed and it was necessary to let it out. Sam had made it clear that he though Kane would come after them. He was not keeping private anything that had an immediate effect. Anything that they could change. When it became imperative that he share he would do so, and it was the knowledge that it wouldn't be in there forever that allowed Sam to slam that ever expanding corner of his mind closed. He had too much to dwell on without giving that any more thought. There were other fears and struggles that he _could_ face, and maybe when they were over he would be strong enough to let this one back out.

It was dark now but the night was warm and the food was good and Bobby had produced some beer. Sam had been given some soda and told he should be grateful because it contained caffeine, something else that Dean had been strictly monitoring, and Sam vowed to double his determination to be fit and hover free so he could drink as much coffee as he wanted. Did Dean honestly think he couldn't tell when he switched it to decaff?

The deck chairs were not the most comfortable contraptions in the world. Dean was almost remembering his hospital chair with nostalgic fondness. At least that didn't tip over every time he shifted his weight. And he could tell from Sam's searching eyes that his brother was wondering how, now that he had got down here and sunk into its folds, he was ever going to get out of it again.

Not that it mattered right now.

With each fresh beer Dean and Bobby became more jovial and the tales of their exploits became more dramatic and exuberant, and Sam had to admire the man's ability to tell such wild stories while maintaining his completely deadpan expression.

The puppy divided its time between lazing peacefully under Sam's chair and standing underneath the still slightly smouldering barbeque, on the off chance there was a spare sausage up there that was going to leap down and join him of its own accord. When it was not doing either of these things it would approach the corner of the yard where their mystical bonfire had once been. There was only a patch of disturbed earth left, Bobby having refilled the hole Dean had dug and buried the remnants. But it would approach this spot with its hackles raised, barking and threatening, but the way its tail was wagging didn't quite fit with the action, and it probably remembered that the first time it had done this, growling with genuine indignation, Dean had rewarded it with food.

Sam took some more painkillers when he went inside to use the bathroom, slightly embarrassed that he had needed Dean's help to stand so that he could do so, but he knew he was the only one of the three that was annoyed at the action.

The sensation in his side had moved on from twinging to painful, but he wasn't ready to give up and go to bed yet. This was perhaps the longest he had been up and about in one go for weeks, and while the day may have involved a lot of sitting it had also been incredibly draining. But Dean and Bobby were showing no signs of letting up, and there was a part of Sam that was afraid of missing something if he left. He wasn't participating in their conversation at any great length, but he was enjoying watching their dynamic. Being able to _see_ his brother being happy again, and he was grateful that Bobby had given him that because Sam had tried so hard yet somehow always failed. He knew that Dean had been happy with him over the last week, but he had always had a slight guard raised too. Been on the alert even if he didn't know what he was looking for. It was habit, one that Sam knew he of all people would never be able to get Dean to break, but somehow being here and trusting that nothing was going to get through the now triple layer of protection between the outside world and Sam, was enough to convince him to more fully relax.

The humming in his mind was also much quieter sat out here under the stars. He really did feel so much safer just knowing they were watching out for him, and if he could share in a moment like this, deserve their trust, then maybe he couldn't really be all that bad. It was a reminder of why he would fight to stay that was.

But Dean was a brother before he was anything else, and soon Sam's shifting to get more comfortable would not go unnoticed, and his newly stitch free side was starting to sting. He knew it would break up the party more if Dean had to drag him off to bed so he reluctantly struggled out of his chair again and bid them both goodnight.

It wasn't long before the sound of voices from outside got more sporadic and subdued, and then it was only a matter of time before they followed him in.

00000000000000000000

_Sam was giving him nervous glances from the passenger seat. God he wished he'd stop with that. Wished he would just trust for three seconds that maybe Dean knew what he was doing. Wished he didn't have to deal with the question 'where are we going?'_

_Sam had always been content to just pick a direction and drive in the past. Drift until something specific came along. Why all of a sudden should that be different?_

_Dean sighed. Because everything was different. The whole world was different now. And as long as Sam continued to hover between uncertainty and nervousness then nothing could right it. Noting could ever be the way it was._

_It didn't matter where they were going. Nothing could have mattered less, and he would have thought someone of Sam's intelligence would have seen that. It was what they were moving _away _from that was of key importance in this scenario. They needed to get as far away from this place as possible. They couldn't stay here. They couldn't have Sam; Dean wouldn't let them. Surely Sam needed to get away from here as much as Dean did. Surely he at least understood that._

_Dean spared a darting glance from the road to take his brother in. Sam was sitting bolt upright in his seat, pressing himself as far back into the support of it as he could. His eyes were closed and his breathing horribly shallow, and if possible his face was paler than Dean had ever seen it._

_As if knowing he was being scrutinised Sam slowly turned his head, opening his eyes questioningly as he did so. And the sight of them froze Dean. They shone with a shimmering haze of pain, which he swallowed and tried to blink away, but beneath that he saw his brother's confusion and fear._

_And Dean realised that yes, Sam probably did need to get out of here, but he needed somewhere to stop and rest so much more._

_But they were in the middle of nowhere now. He had left civilization behind them, removed his brother from the threat that it posed. Surely there must be something around here somewhere, something they could use. Dean was shifting frantically in his seat now, eyes scanning the road ahead and behind, trying to decide where to turn off for the best._

"_What are you looking for?" Sam's voice was still so low and horse that it always took Dean by surprise. Made his heart clench because it was as though Sam was nervous each time about using it._

"_Motel." Dean offered bluntly, giving his brother another once over. "You need somewhere to rest." And his eyes were back to darting again._

"_I can rest in the car." Sam offered. It wasn't hope in his voice, it was something else, something Dean couldn't quite place, and yet it angered him. Whether because Sam had been reduced to using it or because he didn't fully understand it Dean didn't know, but the rage it caused was undeniable. His grip on the steering wheel was so tight that it hurt._

"_If you want to stop we'll stop." Sam added hurriedly, not knowing what he had done to suddenly upset his brother, "But I _can_ sleep in the car."_

"_No you can't." Dean was harsh. "I don't need to lie down. I wasn't in a hospital for the last two months."_

"_Yes you were" Sam told him sadly and slowly, "But I got a bed."_

_Sam sighed and looked away from him, _and Dean bolted upright with a tremendous gasp.

Dean woke up in so many different rooms during the course of a year that he rarely expected to remember the exact layout the instant his eyes were open, so he turned instead to the only constant fixture in his room. And there was the second bed just as he had expected. Only it was empty.

With a frown Dean made to get up, but held himself back. If Sam had got up to use the bathroom or get a glass of water then he would not appreciate being followed.

He laid himself back against his pillow rubbing his hands across his face, wanting to wipe his mind clear of what it had seen. It had been a while now since a nightmare had woken him. And that one was new. The focus had almost always been the few heart stopping moments of almost losing Sam. Having him in the car beside him almost complete didn't seem like real nightmare material considering everything that had gone before it. But something about it had unnerved him a lot more than it had the right to.

Perhaps it had been Sam staring at him with those horrible lost eyes, just like the expression he had been wearing since they left the exam room that afternoon.

But no, it wasn't the same. It was close, but it wasn't the same. And he knew where today's expression had come from, had seen its slow haunting approach. Part guilt, part exhaustion, and part a drowning sense of overwhelm, of accepting failure before he had even begun. And it was all internal. The focus of that gaze had always been solely on himself, and while Dean might get caught in the blast of it whenever Sam looked his way, Sam had done his best to battle through his confusing and conflicting emotions to explain that this was not in any way about Dean. The way he viewed his brother had not changed. His support and presence had never been in question. The fear was of his own weakness and inability to succeed. To somehow betray the hope that Dean had placed in him.

And that was where the fundamental difference lay. Because the look in his eyes in the car as Dean had driven them away from the place his nightmares had started. The one he had worn almost constantly since the moment of waking, and had only recently lost… That had never been about himself. The fear and confusion and uncertainty he had felt had only ever been about Dean.

And it was a good thing that Dean was lying down because the realisation of that made his head spin. He had thought Sam was afraid of him somehow. No longer trusted Dean to protect him. Feared for his own safety. But nothing could have been further from the truth. He wasn't afraid of Dean, he was scared for him.

Dean had never stopped to consider those early days from Sam's perspective; he had been pretty schizophrenic. He was like a caged animal while in the hospital. He had sat in a still and dazed lethargy for days, unable to even breath if Sam was no longer within his sight, lost in a hollow empty void, his mind not even able to function if for a moment he was forced to break contact. The room and the air had been as still as Sam, and the weight of it had kept Dean immobile. But the second his brother had woken Dean's shackles had broken free. He had been inactive for too long; he had to do something. He had to pace, he had to badger the doctors, to get out of this room as soon as was humanly possible. And he had to do all of these things without once having to leave his brother's side.

And somehow he had transferred his desperate need to leave onto Sam. Had argued until they released him because Sam could rest and do nothing just as well under his own care as he could in a hospital bed. But outside those walls was a big and scary place, and maybe it would be better if Sam never ever had to go out into it. But if it was just a question of medication and sleep then as soon as they were sure there was no, no, no chance of a relapse, and Dean had studied all of the danger signs until his brain was about to explode, then there was absolutely no reason why they needed to be here.

And Sam had meekly acquiesced. That was all he _had_ done for days. Given Dean whatever he though he wanted. If they were leaving the area so soon Sam must surely have expected Dean to have in mind somewhere for them to stay, but in truth, he could no longer plan that far ahead. Here and now and Sam, listening to every breath and feeling each and every heartbeat; the immediacy of so much _life._ He could see nothing beyond that. He had needed to get Sam away, and Sam had let him, had not once asked him to stop the car when his every nerve, his every instinct must have been screaming to put it in reverse and head straight back to where they had come from.

It hadn't been until Sam was practically crying with need that Dean had figured out what he wanted. And even then Sam had tried to hide it to let Dean have what _he_ wanted, had tried to make Dean see that maybe _he_ needed rest too, maybe _he_ needed to acknowledge that things weren't going the way he had perhaps envisaged.

But Sam had been too out of it, too medicated, too weak to do anything but lie there and watch Dean pace with those huge frightened eyes, while Dean grew more paranoid and irrational around him. Even if that side of his personality had never been allowed full reign, had been stamped down by the brother that could only see and respond to his family's pain.

He had been so desperate to prove to Sam that he would never fail him again, so desperate to see him live, that Sam's passivity and frailty had terrified him, and he had not once stopped to see that maybe he had caused it, because Sam could think of no other way to help him other than to let him do what he wanted, and hope that by achieving those small goals Dean would somehow figure his next move out.

And that had lasted until Sam had regained enough of his strength and awareness to participate in Dean's daily routine of hovering and worry. As soon as he had been physically able to life his arm Sam had used it to push his brother away. To insist that he was fine. To force himself to believe that.

But Dean couldn't cope with the idea that Sam might be fine. As perverse as it might sound he couldn't cope with a fine Sam because a fine Sam was a leaving Sam, and Dean had never needed anything more than he needed to be able to sit on the edge of his brother's bed and just try to find some harmony in the still lines of his face, or the gentle sound of his breath. To let that take away the screaming horror that was inside his mind.

It was all so obvious now, but at the time Dean could find no fault with his own actions. The fault was in Sam's, and that had been one of the most painful beliefs imaginable.

And sitting here in this bed with the peace and quiet his mind had somehow been able to find, that had been with him since talking to Bobby on that hospital bed. The calm he now felt could not comprehend how he had lived with that much noise inside him. How he had failed to notice that it was there. Because he hadn't. It was perhaps only now that the tension had left him that Dean could see how much he had carried around with him, how much he had been an accident waiting to happen. If he had been left to simmer for just a few days longer he would not have needed Kane's aid to implode.

He had known his hovering, his need for Sam had been unhealthy and he had wanted to tone it down, but he hadn't known how. And he marvelled that they had held it together for as long as they had. Dean saw that it was somehow the need to be Sam's strength that had saved him from a complete meltdown.

He turned his head and looked again at his brother's bed, smiling slightly at the thought of the figure that usually occupied it. How Sam's faith and need continued to save him every single day, gave him purpose when it was so easy to fall into the darkness that surrounded them.

It hadn't all been bad. There had been moment of such hope and peace; oases of bliss that had no doubt kept the madness at bay. Days when it was so easy to sit at Sam's side, to bask in his light, to run his fingers through his brother's shaggy brown hair and to feel Sam's unspoken gratitude. To know he was loved, that his presence was needed, even if Sam was too weak to express it with words. When the stillness and reverence of that hospital room could be echoed in Dean's heart, because the only thing he would ever need was right here beside him, held his arm hostage in his gentle grasp and trusted implicitly that it was okay to close his eyes because Dean was here, that it was okay to be so tired, that it was okay that his lungs were still too weak for the doctors to want to risk leaving him to breathe alone, okay that he could give nothing in return because Dean was there whenever he opened his eyes. And as long as he continued to be so then Sam was safe.

It was madness and it made no sense, but both realities were true, had lived side by side for so long that it was hard to break them apart. Hard to see where the problem lay and harder still to fix it. But they would. They had taken giant steps towards that goal in the past week. It was perhaps only because Sam knew his so well that he could see through Dean's fault-lines; make it through the calm exterior to the turmoil within.

Dean had been awake and musing for quite some time, and Sam was yet to return to bed.

He picked up his watch from the nightstand. It wasn't yet 2 o'clock. It was barely more than an hour since he had come to bed; his mind had wasted no time in letting its thought's be known. Sam had been here when Dean had got in. Hadn't been asleep yet himself, but he had been here.

Eyes scanning the room Dean realised the dog was missing too. He couldn't hear it padding around on the floor outside their room. If it was following Sam about he would be able to hear its steps, no matter how stealthy his brother might be.

Fighting down a wave of choking unease Dean eventually gave in to his anxiety and scrambled out of bed. He would conquer his hovering and his obsessive need, but he would never stop the worry. Never not need to know that his brother was safe. That was part of who he was.

He found Sam on the couch hugging a hot water bottle, the dog curled up with its head on his knee, watching a programme about a year in the life of a baby panda at the Smithsonian zoo, and he didn't think his brother could have done or said anything more to make him feel better.

The lights were all off and the volume was low, and in the flickering illumination of the TV screen Dean could just make out a glass of water and Sam's bottle of prescription painkillers, two pills already ready and waiting, lined up neatly on the low table in front of him.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, moving through the room and taking a seat in a chair at Sam's side, from where he could take his brother in. Could bask in the peace of having found him again.

Sam jumped slightly in surprise at his voice, and tearing his gaze away from the TV he turned to greet Dean with a smile that couldn't reach his eyes.

Dean could tell from the way Sam's attention had been so fixed on the TV, from the slow steady rhythm of his breathing, that he was fighting hard to distract himself from the pain.

"Want me to pass you them?" he asked, nodding towards the pills on the table, curious as to why Sam had gone to the trouble of lining them up and not taken them, when he so obviously needed to.

"I can't. Not yet." A whisper that was slow and calm, and required far more concentration than the words deserved. "Not for about another hour." He answered his brother's unspoken question with a rueful smile. Taking that second lot of painkillers had seemed like such a good idea at the time, and yet they had done absolutely nothing to take the edge of. If he didn't already have about two solid months worth of drugs in his system Sam probably wouldn't have minded, but he had already taken more of those lightweight pills than he perhaps should have, and an overdose was hardly what they needed right now.

Dean hung his head. He no longer wanted to look at Sam because there was nothing he could do about that admission. He could guard Sam all night, he could shoot anything that dared to look at him the wrong way, but he could do absolutely nothing to take his pain away.

"You could distract me," Sam offered, as though sensing his thoughts.

Distraction. For some reason the word reminded him of the question Bobby had asked him at the hospital. Reminded him of his dream. Of what Sam had been prepared to endure for Dean's own peace of mind.

"We're gonna figure this out." He promised. He still wouldn't look at Sam, but he could sense him become still beside him. "I know it seems like a huge battle right now, but we will figure something out. And things will be better this time. I'm gonna be better this time."

"Dean…" Sam was looking at him now, and Dean found himself unable to deny his gaze. To ignore those deep sympathetic eyes. "You can't have given me any more…"

"That's not true. I know that's not true. I..."

"Were hurting." Sam told him simply. "And you had a right to. You did more than… Dean, you _always_ do more than anyone has a right to ask of you. And you do it without question. It's okay to ask yourself what _you_ want once in a while."

"I have what I want."

Sam screwed his eyes up quizzically, but Dean could find no clearer way to say it.

"Why were you so keen to do that hunt?" he asked instead. "What was it about that particular one?"

"Nothing." Sam answered, confused. "The location. That it seemed like a relatively straight forwards track and kill. No obvious external wounds, nothing that would put up much of a fight. I'd picked out a few, but that was the closest."

"But why? Why did you seek out any at all? We had that room for another week, and you were still under orders to take things slow, so why…"

"Because I thought it was what you wanted." Sam admitted with something close to anger, but not at Dean, never at Dean. Maybe at himself for having read the situation so wrong. "I just wanted to give you something… something else to focus on other than…" he sighed, defeated. "I thought it was what you wanted." At the level of apology in his voice Dean felt like he'd been struck.

"But I told you that…"

"Yeah, well. I didn't say it was logical. I just… You looked so lost." He said, his voice soft and distant, "I'd made you lost, and I thought that, if we just did one job. If I could help. If you'd let me help you, then maybe I could find you again." Sam wasn't looking at him. Was staring into the dark as though willing it to cover him. Willing that he had not said those words out loud.

Communication breakdown had been an understatement, and it wasn't just their recent history that had brought this about. Sam had spent so much time and energy trying to be what he thought Dean had needed, to be what he thought Dean wanted him to be, that he had never once stopped to consider that he already was. Probably even now was unaware of that fact. Sam had thought they needed to be on a hunt so that Dean could remember who he was, but he had only ever been Sam's brother, and that was the only thing he needed.

"You want to remind me who I am, then all you have to do is be alive." He whispered through the lump in his throat, trying so hard to draw his mind away from the memory of that place. Of the world with no Sam.

They were silent for a long time. Could think of no words to follow that. After an eternity, curiosity won over his mortification and Dean risked a glance at his brother. Sam was sat as if frozen, not even a muscle twitching, still staring into the distance as though he could see a whole world there. The tears of pain that he had refused to let escape had been replaced by another kind, over which he had no control. They trailed in perfect twin lines down his cheeks, and as Dean watched one dropped tenuously from his chin. They made his face glow in the unearthly light from the TV, and the sight of him made Dean ach.

As though aware he was being watched and knowing he needed to find an adequate response Sam took a struggling breath and closed his eyes, nodding minutely to express his understanding and apology. But it was not Sam's fault alone that he had read his brother so wrong. Forced him to admit those words.

Dean stood suddenly, hovering uncertainly between the desire to break away and leave, and keep his brother's pain within his sight. But he was suddenly so afraid of what Sam might say. Sam had heard him, and that was all that mattered.

But Sam didn't always need words to be expressive, not with those eyes, and when he turned them on Dean they made him weak, and he actually had to sink down onto the arm of the couch at his brother's side, just to be able to endure them.

Sam flicked his attention back to the TV, needing a diversion but knowing that Dean could no longer bare his gaze. Wanted the conversation over before it had begun. Dean's struggle to find something suitable to say was not as distracting as the screen. Especially when the eventual comment was:

"Dude? Pandas?"

"It's not like there was a lot of choice." Sam defended. "Plus, I dropped the remote." He admitted, indicating to where it lay, poking half under the chair Dean had just vacated. Dean bent to pick it up, powerfully sad that the action he had never questioned was something Sam found beyond him. He aimed it at the TV but before he could press the button Sam's fingers were encircling his wrist, and the look he flashed him was decidedly apologetic.

"It's his birthday. There's gonna be fruitsicles and cake." He offered, which just mystified Dean further. "I've been watching for like an hour. Can you just leave it?"

"Sure" Dean replied, setting the remote back down on the table. _Whatever you need._ But he didn't move to go. Instead he slid down from the arm of the couch where he had perched until he was settled onto the seat beside Sam. His brother shifted slightly to accommodate him, but whether he was too stiff for the movement to be effective or because he had secretly planned it that way, the action seemed to end up leaving him snuggled closer to Dean's side rather than give him any more room.

Dean lent back into the seat and closed his eyes with a smile. He could hear the soft strain of his bother's breath, gentle music, and when it would catch then Dean would give his arm a reassuring squeeze. And affectionate rub of comfort to distract his mind from the pain. From the forty minutes he had left to wait before he could end it. Forty minutes wasn't that long to wait, and it would go even faster now they were together.

Dean's eyes were still closed but he could feel his brother smile at whatever the baby panda was up to now. Yes, he had everything he needed right here. Warm and alive and leaning slightly into him, using Dean to ease the pressure in his other side, and Dean didn't mind, because that was exactly what he was here for.

THE END

Obviously this is left wide open for a sequel I hadn't been expecting, so you're going to have to give me time to have a think about exactly what to do about that.


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